Lone Star State Of Mine
by Jenye
Summary: Modern AU. There are three types of people in Dawson, Texas: those who are trying to flee, those who embrace their small town fate, and the Mellarks. Mellark Ranch; largest cattle ranch South of Dallas, employer of ranch hand, Katniss Everdeen, and home of The Ohio State Buckeyes' running back, Peeta Mellark. And Peeta Mellark is coming back home today.
1. Chapter One

**Author's Note: **It has been far too long since my creative juices started flowing again. And this time it's in the form of an Everlark fic. Sorry, Dair fans - I promise, I'll update those two stories very soon. Of course, I am extremely nervous to enter into such a talent fandom, but I figured I'd do it with something I know a little too well: Texas. I'm from the Dallas area, so I figured I'd have some fun with it. It's _extremely_ southern cliche for this first chapter - which I know is annoying at times - but I promise it'll lighten up in the following chapters. I adore where this story is going. Dawson, Texas is a real town about 2 hours south of Dallas. I've never actually been there, but I did my Google research to figure out the population. Everything else I'm claiming creative license. If you're from Dawson and don't hate me for pimping out your small town for my southern story; call me. We'll have dinner!

I can't start this story off without saying an amazing, awesome thank you to my beta, **IvoryKeys09**. She is so flawless! Thank you so much!

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**Summary: **Modern AU. There are three types of people in Dawson, Texas: those who are trying to flee, those who embrace their small town fate, and the Mellarks. Mellark Ranch; largest cattle ranch South of Dallas, employer of ranch hand, Katniss Everdeen, and home of Ohio State Buckeye running back, Peeta Mellark. And Peeta Mellark is coming back home today.

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**Lone Star State of Mine  
****Chapter One: Small Town USA**

"_A lot of people called it prison when I was going up, but these are my roots and it's what I love."_

Dawson, Texas.

As of the 2000 census we had just over 850 people living in our city limits, but that's the funny thing about Texas – city limits are just the beginning. Texans don't thrive in cities: in fact, after awhile we run from it like our tails are on fire. We don't do well with high rises and mini-malls. Call us hicks though and you'll be staring down the barrel of a Benelli 12 Gauge Nova. We aren't hillbillies - those are the ones hanging around the mountains of Tennessee or Kentucky. Although I doubt they prefer that title either. We don't take too kindly to people knocking on our doors to do a head count. So who knows if the census is telling the full truth.

The first famous person to come out of Dawson, Texas was Baptist evangelist Lester Roloff, and he died about seven years before I was born. And famous probably isn't what most would use to describe the man. I mean, the only reason I know of him is due to the wooden sign we have made outside his childhood home: real fine piece of carpentry that is. And those who've shot BBs into it throughout the years have only given it more Dawson character.

Dawson is your typical, run-of-the-mill, Texan small town. We don't ask for much, but we work for every bit of it. We take pride in two things: America and football. If you don't support either you'll probably be run out of here faster than a stray cat. We're about two hours south of Dallas and about a world of difference. We have two gas stations, three bars, one convenient store, one middle school that also blends into the high school, and one diner all within the city limits. And all of which shutdown at six o'clock on Fridays from the end of August to the beginning of November. Why? Because it is unconstitutional to miss a single football game be it an away or home game.

It's a cliché, but it's _our_ cliché and we take a lot of pride in protecting it.

There are also three types of people in Dawson: those who spend their entire childhood waiting to escape the clichés of Texas small towns, those who embrace their fate and take to spending the rest of their days here, and the Mellarks. Sounds a bit melodramatic doesn't it? Putting an entire family into its own category, but facts are facts and this is just one of them.

The Mellarks didn't start this town – no one really knows who started this place. Whoever it was didn't see fit to stick around and take the credit. Anyway, the Mellarks may not have started this tiny piece of paradise, but they're the reason it's still making it today. Their cattle ranch has made quite the dent in Dawson history. See, the Mellarks own about three hundred acres of black gold just past the Dawson city limits. That's right, we're talking oil – and lots of it. Texas' fastest means to riches. Don't go getting ahead of yourself though, this isn't Southfork and no one is sleeping with someone else's significant other for turf purposes. And even if they were the Mellarks have a good way of shutting the rest of us off to their dirty laundry – they don't air it.

In fact, it's quite a peaceful affair. There is oil throughout the property, but Mr. Mellark has made it perfectly clear that he doesn't want all of his property going to oil tycoons and they've respected his wishes. It's been a cattle ranch since he grandfather started it generations before and he wants it to stay that way. Of course all good things come to an end, but no one sees the Mellark good thing ending anytime soon. Oil brings in a profit which is good for the family, but the cattle brings employment and that's good for the community.

Everyone in Dawson knows someone who's worked or is working on the Mellark ranch. Be it mending fences, building new barns, herding and branding cattle, delivering the product, or milking the ladies in the barn. There is always something Mr. Mellark needs done and he's a generous soul. I've never seen it, but rumor has it that if someone approaches him because they're hard up he'll give them temporary employment on the spot with always a promise for more. He'd probably just hand them the money, but we're Texans. We don't take what we haven't earned and he's not about to go and insult someone's honor.

That's who Daddy should have worked for, a man who understood that the importance of a product wasn't as important as a human life. But Mama always thought the real money was being a farm hand. The hours were long and the timing was a bit unpredictable, but the pay was decent. My father worked about twenty minutes outside of Dawson at a 100 acre farm for Mr. Snow. The rumor mill about Mr. Snow was nowhere near as kind as it was to Mr. Mellark, but Daddy never said a harsh word about the man. And I never had one ill thought of him either until the weeks after Daddy died from an accident on his farm. The man showed no remorse and offered zero help for now our one-income family. Mr. Snow washed his hands clean of us and moved onto the next sorry soul.

I was seventeen, almost out of high school, when I approached Mr. Mellark for a job on the ranch. He immediately offered me a position inside helping Mrs. Mellark managing the estate affairs. It was dull work and completely outside of my comfort zone, but we needed the money and I wasn't about to bite the hand that fed me. I helped with the budget, ordering, and other necessary office tasks, but I craved to be outside. Finally, after being part-time business help for nearly a year, I approached Mr. Mellark about a recently opened ranch hand position. It was the most genuine laugh I'd heard escape a person when he shook his head and commented that I'd lasted longer indoors than he thought I would.

He gave me the job over a year ago and today is my first day moving into the on-site duplex. I'm twenty and as much as I hate to leave my little sister, Prim, it's about time I move out on my own. Or…at least she's finally convinced me. I'm only about fifteen minutes away from my old house and I know I'll be visiting almost nightly. Prim needs me and my mother needs the constant reminder to _be_ a mother. It's not an ideal situation and I'd rather have my watchful eye on Prim always, but she's growing up and I know she won't need me forever. But it's not about her needing me any longer. It's about me needing her. She's been my purpose for nearly seven years now. And I'm just not sure what purpose I'll have without her.

But that's my problem, not hers.

The familiar entrance to Mellark Ranch welcomes me in, like it always does, and I turn down the long dirt road driveway that splits off in different directions. I wave at several of the other ranch hands out mending nearby fences and pull up into the gravel driveway of the workers' complex. Complex is truly a poor word for the several small houses on the property. They are nice places, small, but by Dawson's standards they're plush. They come furnished with the minimal necessities and the décor mimics that of what Mrs. Mellark has down with the main house, just less luxurious.

I throw my truck in park, releasing the clutch, and jumping out of the cab. I stretch to reach into the bed and pull out the one large duffle bag I've brought with me. I could use the excuse that the house already comes furnished to shrug off my lack of luggage, but in reality it's because I've never owned much. Even the bed I slept on was belonged by Prim _and_ myself. Everything I own fits into one bag. It's a reality I've accepted long ago.

Before walking into the small house, I notice that Mr. Mellark has already had someone change the mailbox outside the door to read "Everdeen." It's a small gesture to some, but to me it's everything. When I walk inside I take a quick inventory of the place: living room and kitchen space right as I walk in, and a small hallway to my left that I soon learn leads to the one bedroom and bathroom. It's small, but it's enough. And it's mine.

The zipper of my duffle bag echoes through my quiet bedroom as I begin to pull out my belongings. Most of the bag consists of clothes; old work jeans, t-shirts, tank tops, and undergarments fill my dresser drawers. The closet is left mostly empty save for the only nice dress I own, which Annie insisted I get, and couple dressier tops. I toss my only four pairs of shoes on the floor of the closet and set to work on arranging the pictures I've brought with me atop my vanity.

The first picture is of Prim and myself. It was taken at my high school graduation; I was still wearing my cap and gown and Prim wore her finest floral printed dress for the occasion. She had her arms around my waist with that beautiful grin she could produce on command. She could light up a room with that beautiful smile. This picture was just proof that she got my mother's delicate futures and I was left with my father's strong build, but we complimented each other.

The second picture I pulled out always stabs me in the heart; it is of my entire family. This picture is one of the last times I remember my mother truly smiling. She had Prim sitting on her lap behind the picnic table and I was slung over my father's shoulder like a sack of potatoes, but I had managed to turn my head enough to get into the picture. I can practically hear my laugh when I look at this picture. It is always such a bittersweet memory. It was at a family reunion nearly a year before my father died – the last one my mother, Prim, and myself ever attended. The Everdeens tried to make an effort to remain in contact after he died, but my mother all but caved in on herself, and communication became nearly impossible.

I slide that picture toward the back and grab for my last framed picture; one of me and my best friend. We are covered in mud and grinning from ear to ear. His arm is slung over my shoulders and I have my arm loosely around his waist. This picture was taken right here at Mellark Ranch last season. We'd just started branding the cattle that morning when a true Texan downpour hit. We didn't have any time to search for cover and being in the middle of the ranch didn't help much either. So we took that as a sign to simply enjoy life…something we rarely did. And it had been such a relaxing moment. Mr. Mellark reached into the cab of his truck for his camera as soon as the rain had ended and commented on how we'd always want to remember this moment.

He was right. I still smile when I look at the picture.

"Catnip, you here?"

Speak of the devil.

"Back here," I call out, setting the picture down and tossing my now-empty duffle into my closet.

"Hey," Gale gives his signature crooked grin as he rounds the corner into my new bedroom, "What do you think of your new place?"

"It's all mine," I smile back, looking around at the full size bed with plush looking down comforter and matching vanity/dresser set. "And now I can save a _ton_ on gas."

"Yeah, because that seven miles to and from here was a real deal breaker," He rolls his eyes and I shove him back out the door, walking with him back to the main living area.

"Come on, lets go see if they need our help finishing the south side fence." I grab my work gloves that I'd tossed on my café style table and shove them into my back pocket, "And then I'm buying at Red's."

"Not so fast, Catnip." Gale rebutted, opening my front door and gesturing for me to go first. "Mr. Mellark wants us all up at the main house for dinner tonight, Boy Wonder is coming home from college."

"That _is_ tonight, isn't it?" I roll my eyes and walk to the passenger side of Gale's old pickup truck.

The second famous person to come out of Dawson, Texas is Peeta Mellark; current starting running back for Ohio State and pride and joy of Mellark Ranch. And he's coming home.


	2. Chapter Two

**Author's Note: **Thank you so much for all the awesome feedback - I'm still working on thanking everyone individually, but do know that I am so grateful for all your wonderful feedback! It looks like I've got a lot of Buckeye fans reading this story - which is awesome! I went to Duke so be prepared, Buckeyes, I'll probably calling on you for your familiarity with Ohio State in future chapters!

Huge thank you to Ivory for being so wonderfully awesome!

Enjoy!

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**Summary: **There are also three types of people in Dawson, Texas: those who are trying to flee, those who embrace their small town fate, and the Mellarks. Mellark Ranch; largest cattle ranch South of Dallas, employer of ranch hand, Katniss Everdeen, and home of Ohio State Buckeye running back, Peeta Mellark. And Peeta Mellark is coming home today.

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**Lone Star State of Mine  
****Chapter Two: SuperStar**

"_I'm invisible and everyone knows who you are."_

Ohio State University.

Or _The_ Ohio State University. Established in 1870, or so I assume by the school crest worn on Mr. Mellark's favorite, and probably only, sweatshirt. Main campus is located in Columbus, Ohio – a fact I obtained while getting the mail one afternoon - and a little over one hundred miles north of the Mason Dixon Line. The school hosts over 40,000 students, another tidbit I'd received from Mr. Mellark one day while bailing hay. All the other bits and pieces of information I've gathered from Mr. Mellark seem trivial to the main topic of Ohio conversation: sports.

I don't consider myself to be an expert on much. In fact, I don't consider myself an expert on anything. But I believe I could impress Alex Trebek with my extensive knowledge of all things Ohio State sports. The Ohio State University athletics are known as the Ohio State Buckeyes – don't worry, I'm just warming up. They compete in the NCAA's Division I level. They have over thirty varsity sports teams. They are considered to be a part of the Big Ten Conference, (don't ask me what that truly means), and are one of only four schools to have won national championships in men's basketball, baseball, and football.

And yet do you know what Dawson, Texas thinks The Ohio State University's greatest athletic accomplishment is?

Getting a Mellark to leave the great state of Texas.

They haven't done that in generations. Mr. Mellark's great-, great-grandparents started this ranch and ever since the bloodline hasn't ventured far. And rightfully so - why would you leave a good thing? This ranch has truly become a small piece of paradise and it doesn't take a county eye to see that. The landscape is well groomed by nature and the buildings have been well maintained by a caring hand. There is always work to be done, but when you love the finished product it makes the blood, sweat, and time that much more worth it.

Even the Mellark members that grow up and move off the land don't move far. It's like there is some sort of magnetic draw between the proper lines of this place and Mellark DNA. Mr. Mellark's siblings all live close enough, the farthest living in Austin. Peeta's brothers are all within thirty minutes, his oldest deciding to live within the city limits of Dawson. Mellarks and Texas simply seem to go hand-in-hand, like peanut butter and jelly or sunrises and sunsets. You don't mess with that sort of chemistry.

Unless you're the youngest Mellark.

"Rumor has it, Mrs. Mellark is in rare form." Gale fills the silence as we make the short trip up to the main house, "She's been decorating and cooking all day. Even called in Madge and her mother to help. I guess the standard kitchen help wasn't enough."

The eye roll that I give is immediate and almost second nature. Mrs. Mellark is almost as well-hated as her husband is well liked.

"But of course," I say in my most proper tone, "Only the best for her pride and joy."

Gale's scuff is heard over the music coming from his radio and I glance over at him with an amused look. Gale isn't someone with many words, which is well enough considering neither am I. We spend a lot of our time talking of simple things and it suits us, but when it comes to the youngest Mellark I always have a question bubbling in the back of my throat. One that I have yet to have the nerve to ask.

What happened between Gale and Peeta?

I think one day I'll get my nerve, but that day has yet to come. I'm not sure if it's because I don't wish to upset my best, probably only, friend or because I'm afraid to know the answer. Afraid that the answer will change my opinion of the boy who has always been a symbol of hope for to town. To me.

We are apparently one of the last to arrive at the main house; Marshall Beetee is standing with Samantha Wiress, no doubt talking work. I don't think those two would know what to do if Mr. Mellark forced them to take a day off. Jackie Seeder is busy sweeping the wrap around porch; probably something Mrs. Mellark has had her do every time someone walked across it. Peeta's two brothers, Reese and Clement, are standing near their father, talking animatedly with one another. And everyone else is waiting around aimlessly waiting for the guest of honor.

"Hey, look on the bright side," I say, reaching across to playfully smack Gale's arm to get his attention before we climb out of the truck, "At least she's a decent cook."

"Yeah, so is Sae down at Red's," Gale mumbles, tossing his keys on the floorboard and climbing out.

He always was one to look on the sunny side.

I slam the door shut and start towards the porch, knowing I'd have better luck chatting with Seeder about chores than trying to pull Beetee and Wiress out of their growingly intense conversation about the upcoming drive. Gale heads toward some of the other ranch hands, the hope of the world opening up and swallowing him whole etched across all of his features. His eyes dart ever so often, like everyone else's, toward the entrance to Mellark Ranch.

The driveway up to Mellark Ranch is straight as an arrow and probably the length of two football fields. Any person wishing to go unnoticed doesn't use the main entrance; your trail of dust would give away before you even got close to the main house. Mr. Mellark usually jokes that it was his great, great grandparents' way of preparing for the future generations and making sure the youth of those ranch couldn't sneak in or out without the adults knowing the morning after – the dust still floating in the air. And now that he's older with three boys more than willing to push their luck he appreciates their attention to detail.

And finally, with a nearly audible sigh from Mr. Mellark, the familiar dark blue Chevy pick-up truck turns inside the fence and starts down the country runway of Mellark Ranch. Mrs. Mellark, having the sixth sense that she does, finally steps out of the house just as Peeta's truck pulls up next to the other trucks in the drive, looking much newer than most of the workers' worn-out handed down versions.

He's always surprised, and I believe genuinely so, when he sees the collection of people that are gathered for his homecoming. Everyone always says that Mrs. Mellark demands that we be here, but I know in my short time being here that most people are just glad to see him again. All the Mellark boys are good people, but there is just something about Peeta that reminds everyone of Mr. Mellark and that's comforting. Mr. Mellark makes sure to be the first to greet his son, not that anyone would begrudge him that right, with a large bear hug that the he openly accepts.

The interaction makes my stomach twist. I'd give my last breath to be hugged by my father one more time and it's intimate moments like this that make me realize just how raw that wound still is. How raw that wound will always be. My dull nails dig into my forearm as I cross them. I don't envy for much, but in that moment I envy the look of pure joy and pride that Peeta is getting from Mr. Mellark. I glance away, looking at the doorway where Mrs. Mellark still stands looking like a cold statue, waiting for the men in her family to exchange their greetings.

She doesn't wait long before stepping forward and there is a noticeable change in the attitudes of the help: we've all learned it's better to be not seen or heard by Mrs. Mellark. Her family, though, seems to pay no mind to the matriarch standing atop her southern palace.

"Dinner is ready," she announces. Her voice neither welcoming nor warm, but everyone knows that expecting such a tone from her would be like expecting snow on Christmas in Hawaii.

Everyone takes that as their unspoken invitation to head into the main house and start the slow journey inside. I've been inside numerous times, especially when I first started at Mellark Ranch, but I still find it hard to get used to the grandeur. The decorations are beautiful, but it's simply the size that astounds me most. The dining room could easily substitute as our high school's cafeteria. The kitchen is large enough to fit two islands and a small dining table that I assume is for just the Mellark family meals. There is an entertaining room off to the side that has fit nearly thirty people for numerous Superbowl parties throughout the years. I suppose it's all for the best, though, since Mr. Mellark insists on playing host for nearly every sporting event and holiday in existence.

Gale and I have just stepped inside when a familiar voice comes up behind him, "Hey Gale, how have you been? Reese was telling me you joined his softball team this summer."

"Sure did." Gale says, his jaw in clenched as he looks at the blonde standing in front of him.

Peeta watches him for a moment, his hands sliding into the pockets of his jeans. I contemplate walking away. I'm not sure why I even stopped in the first place, it's not like Peeta called out _my_ name. But I can't seem to make my feet move; instead I want to elbow Gale in the ribs for being so cold. These two used to be friends and yet the question bubbles in my throat once more; what happened?

"Awesome." Peeta smiles, sensing the cold reaction, but doing his to push past it. "Well, don't let Reese fool you – he likes to pretend he's some kind of pro, but we all know he can't hit the broad side of a barn."

"Noted." Gale nods, not even bothering to look at Peeta, but past him toward the dining room where everyone is starting to sit down.

Peeta must make a silent decision that this battle isn't one he's willing to tackle tonight and finally just nods as if to signal his forfeit. He then does something I'm not expecting; he looks past Gale and smiles at _me_.

"Hi Katniss," He waves, "It's good to see you."

Before I can even open my mouth to respond he's being pulled away by Clement's arm around his neck, the two laughing about something. I turn my attention toward Gale and shake my head. I'm not sure why there is bad blood, but apparently it's bad enough to make my friend act like a total jackass.

"Way to be Mr. Congeniality," I mumble, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Because you're one to talk." He counters, turning back toward the dining room, "Come on, I'm starving."

The meal gets underway like many before it; everyone takes a seat along the large dining table and starts to dig in. There are bowls of this passing one way while dishes of that are heading the other. It's loud and seemingly pure chaos, but not a piece of food is dropped and no one is left empty handed. When I first arrived at Mellark Ranch and attended my first real "feast," I was a complete wreck. I was too afraid to ask for anything and didn't want to get in the way. I kept looking toward Gale to help me through it. I thought the whole evening was some kind of test, that I would be questioned on everything from my work ethic to my people skills – or lack there of.

Now I've come to realize they're just another part of life on Mellark Ranch; a piece of the life that I've come to feel completely included in. Inclusion is an entirely new feeling for me.

My eyes move along the table toward the other end where Peeta is engrossed in a conversation with his two older brothers. Growing up in Dawson it was hard not to know everyone, but it was especially hard not to know _everything_ about the Mellark boys. The Mellark name, by birth, made them infamous in our small town, but it didn't help that they all seemed to be born with excellent genes. For example, a Dawson townie might know the name of their neighbor's dog, but _everyone_ knew that Mrs. Mellark named her three boys after whatever it was she had craved during her pregnancy; Reese for Reese's Peanut Buttercups, Clement for Clementine oranges, and Peeta for pita bread.

Nothing stays a secret when you're a local celebrity. And that's exactly what the Mellark boys were growing up.

Reese, the oldest of the three, knew of his good looks in high school and made his rounds easily. The wake of broken hearts seemed to be endless. His high cheekbones and 100-watt smile must have made the evitable hurt seem like a distant fate. Clement, the middle, has the rugged good looks of his father and the quiet reserve that made him come across as mysterious. A mysterious man; the kryptonite to many southern girls. Unfortunately for many, Clement, unlike his brother before him, had eyes for only one beautiful brunette who he made his wife a year after graduation. And finally there was the baby of the family, Peeta. He has Reese's 100-watt smile and Clement's sweet demeanor, but he has something entirely Peeta; his kindness. It wasn't superficial charm that makes Peeta so well- liked, but his genuine concern toward others. And it doesn't hurt that the mop of dirty blonde curls always falls just-so, or that when he smiled he has a dimple on the left side.

Not that I've noticed before.

"Earth to Katniss," A voice breaks me from my trance and I look over to see Wiress giving me a rather intuitive smirk. "You going to finish your chicken or can I steal from you what Beetee took from me?"

"Don't listen to her." Beetee leans past her to speak to me, "She's been chowin' like one of the hogs all night."

She quickly shoves him back over into his chair and laughs, "It's because I'm always around you – and when I'm around you it's eat fast or don't expect to eat at all. It's not like you couldn't afford to miss a meal or two."

"Ouch, Darlin'. That really hurt," Beetee's voice mocks hurt as he reaches across the table for a nearby pie, "I suppose I'll have to drown my sorrows in coconut cream."

"A typical Thursday." Wiress grins, patting him on the shoulder.

I laugh, sliding my plate to the side so Wiress can take the piece of chicken she requested. She thanks me before turning back to look at Beetee, having fallen into yet another conversation that would probably over everyone else's' heads. I'm convinced they are the two smartest people on this ranch.

Glancing around the table again, I realize most people have started to finish their meals. Some have moved on to dessert, while others lean back in their chairs, completely stuffed, and sip on their drinks. Gale pops a small piece of brisket into his mouth while arguing with Darius about the Cowboys' starting line-up. Apparently Darius is under the impression Romo needs to throw in the towel before he needs a walker. Gale might be sending him to an early grave for even suggesting such an idea.

Peeta has finished his meal and is now completely mesmerized by whatever it is his father is talking about. Mrs. Mellark has long left her place at the table, probably to go where she is most comfortable - away from everyone else.

Wiress is right; a typical Thursday.

Once everyone has had their fill we all start to push away from the table. Some will hang around to talk, but within moments someone has suggested a pick up game out in the back yard and most of us are making our way outside. Like saying no is even an option. Clement runs upstairs to his old bedroom to grab a ball and Reese and Peeta argue about who gets to be the other team captain. Reese wins; Peeta never pushes hard enough.

"Ate without me, I see? Has moving up North really changed you that much, Mellark? Can't wait for an old friend, Hershel? You better still have cold beer available."

Haymitch Abernathy.

Dawson's very own Eric Taylor, minus the Clear Eyes, Full Hearts motivational speeches. He's lead Dawson to a many of victories and sent many of his players off to large colleges with full rides. He's full of himself and the most unfortunate part of it all is that he has every right to be. Peeta walks up and shakes the older man's hand, the two sharing some small talk.

Mr. Mellark's laugh can be heard through the dining room as he gets up from the table to meet Haymitch. He sticks his hand out to greet the man, both smiling from ear to ear.

"Being without cold beer and having you within a twenty mile radius is hazardous to our health." Mr. Mellark grins, leading the man into the dining room, "Please, eat what you want and you know where we keep the beer."

"You're a smart man, Hershel. I take back everything awful I've said about you in the past." Haymitch reaches for a piece of okra and pops it into his mouth, "Except I stand by the fact that your offspring can handle the ball better than you ever could."

At this Gale quickly excuses himself to head out back, mumbling something about favoritism. Never before have I felt that my friend was bitter toward the Mellarks, but in that moment I feel like there was a lot that maybe he hasn't been telling me. I quickly follow Gale, somehow believing I have found the courage to confront him about his extremely sour attitude, but once I reach the porch I see he's already tossing the ball with Darius and I'm not about to pull him away from the one thing he's always loved: football.

"I'm trying to remember if I stole his lunch money or something back in school." Peeta's voice is light, but when I turn to look I can tell Gale's attitude is obvious to him as well.

"He – um, I –" I try to find an excuse, but there really isn't one. And why am I trying to find one anyway? Gale is my friend, if he's upset with someone I should be to.

Peeta steps forward and shakes his head, "Don't worry about it. I thought two years away would change things a little bit. It was awhile ago, he'll get over it someday."

So he must understand what Gale's poor attitude is for. I wanted to ask him. I want to try to figure out how he could leave for school two years ago – stay away nearly that entire time – and come home knowing that his childhood friend would want nothing to do with him. But the loyalty in me says I should confront Gale first. Give him a chance to explain his part of the story.

Peeta glances over at me, obviously noticing the wheels turning in my mind, "And if all else fails I'll just have to turn up the charm. I did grow up with Reese after all. I'm sure I learned a few tricks along the way."

The lopsided smirk he gives me makes my insides twist in a rather pleasant way.

"Move it, Buckeye. You might make the Ohio State cheerleaders swoon with your talent, but your big brother can still outrun you!" Clement calls from the backyard.

Within a second Peeta bolts off the porch and is sprinting toward his brother. My eyes follow him the entire time. In fact, my eyes seemed to find him throughout the entire game.

I lean against the wood railing as the twilight sky began to grow dark, the game in full swing. My dad would have really loved a night like this; he probably would have been the first to suggest a pick up game. Like most in Dawson, football coursed through his veins just like blood did. He lived for a warm summer night and small town camaraderie. He would have liked working on the ranch. He would have liked the Mellarks.

He would have liked Peeta.


	3. Chapter Three

**Author's Note: **YOU GUYS! Seriously, I'll keep this short, but I just wanted to thank you all for the overwhelming response to this story! You are all so wonderful. I'll try to get to thanking everyone I can personally today. To those I can't: thank you so so so much, your input means so much! This story has been such a blast to write and to see that people actually like it? Well, that's just the icing on the cake. Thank you, thank you, thank you! Oh & if you want some extra drabbles, etc. check out my Tumblr - URL on my profile.

And as always, **Ivory**: you make this story that much better by adding your awesome beta skills! Thank you, dear! From the very bottom of my heart!

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**Summary: **There are also three types of people in Dawson, Texas: those who are trying to flee, those who embrace their small town fate, and the Mellarks. Mellark Ranch; largest cattle ranch South of Dallas, employer of ranch hand, Katniss Everdeen, and home of Ohio State Buckeye running back, Peeta Mellark. And Peeta Mellark is coming home today.

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**Lone Star State of Mine  
****Chapter Three: Dirt Road Anthem**

"_I'm hittin' Easy Street on mud tires."_

Southern Saturday nights.

Friday nights are nice. You look at them like an open book to the rest of your weekend. You get off work and you know you have two whole days before you have to look back. But Friday nights are rushed. You don't have all day to plan for them like you do Saturday. You either have to make a quick change once you get home or just go looking the way you are. Plus you're still not completely de-stressed so the start of your night usually isn't as relaxed as you'd want it to be. You have to knock a few drinks back first. And Sunday nights? Well, they might as well be another work night because you can't do much with them. On top of that you have this heavy pit in your stomach just knowing that you're about to kiss your weekend goodbye and do it all over again.

But Saturday nights? Saturday nights are no-holds-barred, last call, full throttle kind of fun. Saturday nights anywhere are treasured, but Southern Saturday nights are practically weekly holidays to those who spend their entire week working toward them. The list of possibilities is endless and makes them that much more appealing. You could spend your night closing down the local drink hole playing pool, shutting the bull, or winning the newest suitor over to take home. You could head off the beaten trail with just your heart's desire, a blanket, and a bottle of Boone's Farm. You could find yourself and several others in some un-expecting farmer's acres throwing back Keystone and blasting country radio.

Or, in true Southern cliché fashion, you could put on your favorite pearl snap shirt and boots to head down to the local honky-tonk. Country music, dancing, and beer; favorites both north and south of the Mason-Dixon, but an absolute staple on a good Southern Saturday night. And where better to find all of those things than at a honky-tonk? Even those who don't thrive in such a loud and outgoing atmosphere still find themselves at such a place at least several times a year, most of those times being during the summer.

Those like me.

"Everyone's going to Panem tonight, you going?" Gale asks, tossing another load of hay into the trailer.

I openly groan, not bothering to respond. He should know my answer. I may make an occasional appearance there, but that certainly doesn't mean I enjoy it. My plans for this Saturday evening are quite simple: curl up on much couch to channel surf, and only leave my post when I run out of beer or need to use the bathroom. I am dedicated to this cause. I continue to work, letting the silence consume our chores once more.

"Oh come on, Catnip." Gale grins, he's always been amused at my lack of social abilities. I find nothing about this amusing.

"I'd rather groom Buttercup." I deadpan, racking a pile around my feet.

That seems to quiet him for a moment, but I doubt it'll last. If there's one thing Gale and I have in common it's our stubborn nature. We're both headstrong and when we're in sync it works well. When we're at odds bar the doors. Fortunately most of the time we're not at odds and if we are it lasts no longer than several hours. We make a good team and we're not stupid. They aren't many out there that would put up with us – we've got to keep each other around.

The sun beats down and I can feel the heat through my threadbare t-shirt. It's the first tell-tale signs of summer; the humidity is rising and the sun seems to have taken a step closer to the earth. The cattle can feel it too, they're becoming lazier and herding is a bit harder. Not to mention we now have newborns to deal with and the calves are usually like pre-teens: you tell them to do one thing and they do the opposite.

"Madge is supposed to be there." Gale says, breaking the silence once more.

Sometimes I think Gale can't stand silence because we hardly ever have it for long. I tend to be more relaxed in silence. The silence is an old friend, one that's stood by me through it all. Silence was the one thing I could look forward to once my sister fell asleep at night after our father died. Silence was the one friend I had once my mother all but lost it after realizing he wasn't coming home. Silence was certainly better than those alternatives. But much like silence, Gale has been there through it all as well. And for that I tolerate, and even enjoy, his constant need for conversation.

"Is that a good or bad thing?" I ask, stopping my haul long enough to wipe a drop of sweat slowly sliding down my temple.

Gale shrugs, "We're friends. And this is Dawson, do I have a choice?"

No, I guess he doesn't. It's not like he could truly avoid her for long. Although he's been doing a pretty fair job of it for where we live. They'd broken up nearly three months ago and he's maybe run into twice. That's saying something. Personally I never disliked Madge, but she certainly wasn't who I'd thought Gale would decide to fall head over heels with. She was a bit…different. And the mayor's daughter. That alone was enough to get tongues wagging; the mayor's daughter with the Mellark's ranch hand. God, it sounded like an awful Danielle Steele novel. We just needed Fabio for the cover art.

But Gale was happy: truly, genuinely, almost giddy happy. And because of that I never wanted it to end. But unfortunately it did. Gale didn't really say much about the break up and since I don't really speak to Madge I'm not too sure what happened. I know she broke up with him - he told me that much. And then went on to mumble something about how they were just going to be friends. I didn't buy it for a second, but said nothing. He swallowed that hurt like he did every other one: with a strong jaw and hard heart.

Gale didn't talk about his woes much, but I knew they dug down deep in him. A drunk driver killed his father only a year before mine, when he was fifteen years old. I'm not even sure he missed more than one day of school or his part-time work out here at the ranch. Mr. Mellark tried to tell him over and over that he could take all the time he needed. He didn't listen and showed up for the early morning milking the next day. He needed to support his family and he wasn't going to do that sitting around in his own pity. I understood that. Gale was the oldest, that alone held a lot of pressure, but I'm not sure Gale ever allowed himself to fully grieve.

Not that I'm one to talk.

"I'll go tonight." I speak up again, feeling the sudden need to be there in case Gale needs a shelter. Not that he would ever admit to needing such a thing, but that's the beauty of our friendship. Nothing needs to be said.

"You sure? You're going to miss America's Most Wanted." Gale smirks, tossing another pile of hay into the trailer.

I shoot him a quick glare before shrugging, "I'll survive. Never know, might find one of last week's at Panem tonight. Collect some reward money."

He smiles as he tosses his pitchfork in the trailer, "Come on, the animals aren't going to feed themselves. Jump on, I'll drive."

He says that like there would be some kind of argument. He always drives the tractor over toward the stalls. He also _always_ tells me to jump on with the announcement of him driving. Sometimes I truly believe he just likes to hear himself talk. Fortunately, I don't mind it either.

I toss my own pitchfork in the trailer and climb up, taking a seat on one of the old wooden beams built up around the edges. Gale climbs into the seat of the old tractor before looking back at me.

"Push you around the dance floor tonight?" He gives a knowing grin.

"Don't hold your breath."

His laugh intermingles with the roar of the tractor starting up and we're off, making the slow drive across the ranch toward the stable of horses. Feeding is one of the easiest chores, but it's the one that takes the longest and obviously needs to be done every day. Loading the hay, moving the hay, spreading it around the stalls. Repeat. If one isn't diligent about their time they could easily spend an entire day doing such an easy task.

I've been a part of the Mellark ranch for nearly three years and it still takes my breath away just how vast and beautiful the place can be. Most of the time I'm too busy with any given chore to notice, but there are these rare moments when all I can do is sit back and admire the view. And now is one of those moments; the melancholy hum of the tractor lulling me into a peaceful state, the summer breeze pushing the fly-aways from my braid out of my face, and the sun resting over me like a winter time blanket.

The rolling hills push against the row of trees at the very end of my eyes' view. The slow-moving cattle graze in the pastures without a care in the world. I can see the paths winding and turning throughout the property. Trails that have been made from years of trucks, four wheelers, horses, and tractors making their own way to their destinations. Trails that I know like the back of my own hand.

My head turns toward the north point of Mellark Ranch, away from where the tractor is heading, and I see the familiar fire red that I immediately associate with one thing and one thing only: Peeta Mellark's favorite work truck. It's a piece of junk. It's a 1983 Ford F-350 and meant for hard labor. The windshield is cracked from a freak hailstorm we had several summers ago. The back bumper has been tied onto the frame. The frame itself is beginning to rust. The right headlight is busted out – very few know what from and those that know don't talk about it. No one wants to ever see that side of Mrs. Mellark again.

But Peeta insists on using it whenever he's home and Mr. Mellark refuses to buy new for that reason, Lord knows they can afford to. Mr. Mellark once told me that only his son could find the beauty in a hunk of junk like that one. He believes Peeta has a knack for the finding the beauty in just about anything.

I find myself believing that too.

Peeta is out fixing a slack piece in the fence. Even over the low hum of the tractor I can faintly hear the music blaring from his truck's stereo. I imagine he's humming along, I've noticed him doing that before as he works. Not that we work together all that often. But he'll be off key, like always, and it'll be low enough that you only catch parts of it. And that's only if you're really listening.

He's hard at work, a default setting for all of us here, and his arms flex as he pulls the wire tight. We are a decent distance away, but not far enough that I don't notice the contour of his bicep muscles or the way some of his curls are starting to stick to the nape of his neck. His grey t-shirt has darkened in places with sweat and his work jeans have spots of dirt smeared into their light colored wash. He looks like something out of a goddamn country music video.

My jaw clenches and I look away, but apparently not soon enough because Gale has taken an opportunity to turn and look at him and I know he's noticed. My eyes meet his, but I find I can't look at him for too long. I look away again, acting as though I'm just admiring the familiar terrain. I don't dare look back at Peeta, now fearing I'll have an audience. Instead I glance over at Gale again; he's gone back to keeping his eyes on the path. Not that it's truly necessary. We're going maybe five miles and hour and he knows these paths just as well I as I do, if not better.

The rest of the short ride is a storm in my mind that I'm working to keep at bay. I try to fool myself into thinking that I don't know brought up this sudden twist. I lift up my hand to play with the end of my braid that's resting over my left shoulder and twist the coarse pieces through my fingers. I wrinkle my nose slightly, feeling the familiar dull sting of minor sunburn. The first of the season, it's always expected at some point. My eyes dart from one end of the ranch to another, avoiding the one place they want to travel to the most until we're about to reach our destination. I look back, my eyes suddenly feeling less strained, and he's tossing his tools in the back of his truck.

Resistance is obviously futile.

Gale kills the tractor engines and jumps down from his perch. He wipes his hands on his jeans, more for a distraction from me than because they actually need it. I slowly move from my perch, jumping down at the end of the trailer. I grab both of our pitchforks and reach out to hand him his. He slightly takes it and I go toward the stalls to open up the main entrance. Most of the horses have their heads out waiting for their expected meal.

We work in silence for awhile, but this silence feels different. This silence feels loaded. And I know what that means; Gale wants to say something, but he's hoping maybe I'll bring it up first. He's always disappointed in this game.

"Look, Catnip, I know you're not really experienced with this."

Ah, there it is.

I look up from pushing the hay evenly around the feeding bens. I want to say something, to instantly argue with whatever he's about to say, but I bite my tongue. Part of me wants to hear him out, better understand where he's going with this before I ram him with my pitchfork.

"But guys like that aren't really – well, they're not attainable."

"Excuse me?" I can nearly taste the venom in my voice.

"You know what I mean, like they're not the kind that stick around here. They're not the kind that are meant for this small town life." He's not looking at me when he talks. He's going about his work, like we're talking about sports.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about, but from the sounds of it you're trying to reason why _I'm_ not good enough for whoever it is you think I'm interested in." I argue, pushing a bit harder into the pile of hay with my pitchfork.

"Don't be like that," Gale bites back. "You know that's not what I'm saying and I'm not dumb, Katniss. You don't look at someone like that without having _something_ invested."

He said my actual name. Gale never says my real name. I mean, hardly ever. That right there is enough for me to start taking this a bit more serious. I swallow my latest bitter retort and remain silent. He's standing there waiting for me to react, maybe rebuttal what he's just said, but I can't find my reasoning. Instead I continue to work.

I do not have a crush on Peeta Mellark - that part is obvious. I don't have crushes. Crushes are for girls like Madge Undersee. I am too calloused for crushes. I am too calloused for a lot of things.

"I get it." Gale's defeated voice fills the silence once again and I look up from what I'm doing. "Just be care."

"I hardly know him." I say, feeling the need to assure him that it's nothing.

I think I'm also trying to assure myself.

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The afternoon fades away and soon enough we're packing it in for the day. It's still early, but weekend chores are usually kept the bare minimum. Mr. Mellark doesn't want us to overdo ourselves and I appreciate that. Gale and I ride back to the barn together and put up our respective tools.

"We'll probably all meet up at Red's first, grab a bite to eat. Leave at six?" He asks, wiping his hands off with an old rag.

"Can I meet you there? I told Prim I'd stop off at home sometime today." He gives me a skeptical look and I can't help but laugh, "I said I'd come, didn't I? I'll be there. I just need to go home for a bit. It's been over a week."

"Alright, see you tonight." Gale smiles and turns to head toward the door. When he gets to the open doorframe he stops and turns back to look at me. "Hey, about earlier –"

"Don't mention it." I shrug, shoving my hands in my pockets.

He nods and disappears into the afternoon. I stand there looking at where he once stood. I'm not sure what made me more furious earlier; the fact that he thought I was some kind of child that needed protection simply because my experience in the romance department was null, the fact that he doesn't see me ever having a life outside of Dawson, or the fact that he saw Peeta Mellark looking right through me as nothing more than another notch on the bedpost.

I chose to believe it's one of the former.

My eyes are still staring at the empty doorframe when another silhouette forms there. I don't realize how much I haven't really been focusing on that space until I have to focus to see exactly who it is. He's shorter than Gale, but not as lanky. He has structure and a broad one. His hair isn't cut short and crisp like Gale's either and his silhouette shows that his curls move every which way. The more I concentrate, the more realize something else; he's shirt isn't like Gale's either. His shirt is missing entirely.

"Shit," Peeta lets out a surprised sort of gasp under his breath. He quickly recovers and clears his throat to speak clearer, "Sorry, I didn't realize anyone else was still working."

_Swallow, Katniss._ My mind screams, it's also telling me to look away, but I can't and I know I must look like a doe caught in the headlights. My throat has gone dry and my mind seems to be shorting out. I can't form a coherent thought let alone get something to spit out of my mouth. He doesn't seem to notice as he turns off to the side to throw down the toolbox he's carrying in one hand. I notice his soiled shirt is hanging out of his back pocket like a forgotten dishtowel.

Without my permission my eyes start to travel from his back pocket up his bare back. The years of football and manual labor are obvious. His waist widens up into his shoulders perfectly and the muscles are prominent there. His neck is thick, another sign of a football player. When he turns just slightly to move around the workbench I see the hint of a tattoo on the inside of his right bicep. He doesn't leave the arm lifted long enough for me to notice what it is, but I now know it's there. He slowly starts to turn and my eyes instantly travel down the planes of his torso. He's toned, that's to be expected, but he's not ripped like those athletes you'd see in Gatorade commercials. Of course, I don't know if anyone is _that_ toned.

I find myself uncharacteristically wanting to reach out and touch the sharp edge of his hips that travel past the vision of my eyes. His jeans are tightened securely with an old brown leather belt, but a small portion of his boxers – or briefs? – peek out over the tops. The black material is a deep contrast to his light skin. He steps away from the workbench and faces me directly. We're still a good distance from each other, but I instantly feel a rush come over me.

When he reaches into his back pocket for the forgotten t-shirt I finally regain control of my eyes and look away as he wipes the sweat from his face with the grey material. I look at him as his arms drop to his sides and he has the hint of a knowing smirk. Oh God, he's noticed my obvious appreciation and in this moment I want nothing more than to have the world open up and swallow me. I half expect him to make a coy comment, like his brothers undoubtedly would, but he just turns back around and starts putting the tools on their respective hooks.

I appreciate Peeta's understanding nature more.

"Finnick tells me everyone's heading out to Panem tonight." Peeta says, his back still turned toward me. "You going?"

"He said everyone didn't he?" I counter, hoping my voice sounds more sarcastic than condescending. I've been told I can be rather harsh without meaning to be.

But by the sideways smile I receive I realize I must have come across just right. I'm not sure why I'm still standing there. I've finished my work for the day and I need to shower before going over to visit with Prim, but there I stand nonetheless. He finishes putting away the tools and turns back to face me, leaning against the workbench. We're both just standing there in some sort of standoff. We don't know what to say, but we both want to say something.

"Are you going?" I ask, desperate to break the silence.

I half expect him to counter with my earlier comment and inwardly smack myself for asking such a stupid question. Of course he'll go and he'll be the main event. He's only been home for several days and the tongues are practically wagging to get a chance to talk to him.

"You said you're going to be there?" He asks again.

I give him a confused look and nod. Where is he going with this? Is he trying to best me or make a sarcastic comment at my expense? It wouldn't be uncommon, well maybe from Peeta, but here on the ranch we're all usually trying to outsmart each other. A joke given in your expense is usually a common happening.

"Good, then I'll be there." He smiles, pushing himself off the workbench once more and starts to walk back out of the barn. He stops at the doorway and I inwardly laugh at how alike he and Gale truly are sometimes. "You want to ride together?"

"Sure."

My answer escapes me before I can even comprehend it. My insides instantly twist again and I can't say I'm all that upset by it. I like how his features seem to light up at my simple answer and I like that his eyes linger on me a moment longer before he nods.

"Okay, I'll pick up around 8."

Thank God he doesn't see the way my mouth gapes open after he leaves.

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Eight o'clock comes too soon. Or not soon enough. I'm not sure which since I kept glancing at every single clock I'd come into contact with. I didn't want to be distracted when I'd visited Prim, but even she could see I wasn't my usual self. Our conversation was normal, but I'd ask her to repeat almost everything she said and was continually caught staring off into space. She'd asked me numerous times what was wrong with me, but I'd just shrug it off as being tired. I _was_ tired. I'd gotten up at sunrise that morning and had been working ever since. That would distract anyone.

So would a shirtless Peeta Mellark.

By the time I'd gotten back to my new home I had less than an hour to wash the day off. My shower was quick, but they normally were. And as I stand here in front of my fogged mirror I can't help but over critique myself; even in the blurred reflection I can see the dark circles forever beneath my eyes, my nose that's a bit small for my face, and the tiny scar just above the cupid's bow of my lip. It's a scar I got years ago while playing outside with Prim; one that's had plenty of time to fade, but tonight I notice it. Tonight I'd notice an arm hair out of place.

Why was I being like this?

I quickly brush my teeth and braid my wet hair in its traditional style. I don't wear makeup. I've never had a real reason to. The cattle don't seem to mind that I lack mascara and Gale has never told me I need to add a bit of blush to the apples of my cheeks. Which is just as well, since I can't imagine I'd be all that good at putting it on.

My outfit of choice is the usual as well; white t-shirt tucked into my dark washed jeans and boots. Not cowboy boots, just boots. A brown leather pair with this buckle thing going across them. Prim picked them last winter - she called them riding boots - but I'm not sure they're those either. All I know is they're comfortable and I'm not picky. Plus they're the cleanest pair of shoes I own.

I'm looping my belt through my jeans when I hear the knock on the door. My heart instantly beats twice as fast. I finish that task and look up at my reflection, judging my appearance. I catch myself just as I'm about to fix a piece of hair that's fallen around my face.

"Stop." I tell myself and turn to leave my room.

Peeta is leaning against one of the awning posts when I open the door and I swear in this setting he looks like he just walked out of a _County Living_ spread. He's wearing a blue plaid button up with the sleeves rolled up to just under his elbows, the jeans the shirt is tucked into are dark and loosely fit, and his boots poke out from underneath his denim. His hair looks ever the part in its own curled way.

"Ready?" He asks, pushing himself off the post.

_As I'll ever be._

I nod, shutting the door behind me. We walk to his truck in silence and I'm terrified that I've made a mistake. What if the ride there is awkward? Filled with silence and unnecessary small talk? I can't do small talk. I'd rather sit in silence than idly talk about the never changing summer weather of Texas. Maybe I should have just told him I'd see him there. Maybe I can still fake a headache or something. But when he walks over to my side to open the door, ever the Southern gentleman, I climb right in.

He'd left the truck running and I recognize the song on the radio as a Lynard Skynard classic. My eyes instantly look up to see the inside of both the driver and passenger visors lined with CDs. There are also several tossed into the console. Every last one is a Southern Country classic and I'm slightly surprised. I never really saw Peeta listening to Skynard or Waylon.

When he climbs into the truck I want to say something about it. But then he smiles over at me and I lose all hope of forming a coherent sentence. I really need to get a grip here.

"I have to admit, I miss a lot of things when I'm away at school," Peeta starts, being the first to break the silence before we're even out of the ranch. "But Panem is not one of them."

I crease my brows together slightly confused. I always assumed someone like Peeta lived for such a place. He was always fawned over by all the females and even the males made it a point to search him out at some point. His brothers had always seemed to thrive in such an arena. Why would Peeta be any different?

I look down at my hands as they fidget together in my lap, "So why are you going?"

"Why are _you_ going?" He counters with a smirk.

Good point.

I let out a small laugh and look out the window into the darkness. The drive into town is certainly not the most entertaining during the day so at night it was almost a total drag. Very few houses stand between Mellark Ranch and Dawson city limits. And those that did were few and far between.

"So, um, how's school?" I ask, looking back over at him.

"It's good. I mean, it's school." He shrugs, looking over at me. "It beats being around here having my mom ragging on me about _not_ going to school."

"You didn't want to go to college?" I ask, suddenly very intrigued by this man I thought I had all figured out. But apparently I have Peeta Mellark chalked up to be exactly like his older brothers and today he is bound and determined to prove me wrong.

"I don't know, I guess I never thought about it much." Peeta's eyes never leave the road and my eyes never leave him. "My mom always talked about me going to college and my dad always wanted me to play football for as long as possible, so I guess there really was no option."

As I listen to him I realize pressure is always present. It doesn't matter how talented you are. How much money your family has. Or how much life has been handed to you. Pressure is there to stay. It just takes many different forms. My eyes still haven't left his strong jaw, clenching ever so slightly, or how his one hand grips the steering wheel loosely. When he looks over me I'm a bit stunned and instantly feel heat rise to my cheeks.

"God, I sound like some sort of spoiled brat, don't I?" He smiles and pulls my heart along with it. "Sorry to bore you."

I can't stop the words that fall from my lips next.

"You don't bore me."


	4. Chapter Four

**Author's Note: **Happy New Year! I hope you've all had such a wonderful holiday season! I apologize it's been a little over a month since my last update, but now that the holidays are over hopefully I can update a bit sooner. Times have just been crazy for me. I won't keep you long; just as always THANK YOU SO SO MUCH for your wonderful feedback, favorites, and alerts. You are all too kind.

And a special thank you to my amazing beta, **Ivorykeys09**. You, darling, are unbelievably awesome.  
As always, you can find me the easiest over on my Tumblr (finnicks-pants). Enjoy!

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**Summary: **There are also three types of people in Dawson, Texas: those who are trying to flee, those who embrace their small town fate, and the Mellarks. Mellark Ranch; largest cattle ranch South of Dallas, employer of ranch hand, Katniss Everdeen, and home of Ohio State Buckeye running back, Peeta Mellark. And Peeta Mellark is coming home today.

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**Lone Star State of Mine  
****Chapter Four: One Of Those Nights**

"_Someday you'll be looking back on your life, at the memories."_

Panem.

Or, more officially, _Panem et Circenses_: because every southern small town just isn't complete without a honky-tonk bar with an extremely Latin name. I'm not even sure most of our residents know that it's Latin they're trying to pronounce. A classmate of mine, one of the seven brainiacs Dawson produced that year, did an informative speech on the place and the meaning during my senior year. Apparently the name was once used in a formal political setting by ancient civilizations; something to do with public approval and absolutely nothing to do with a southern landmark. And therefore Panem is really the only name that has stuck, even if the neon sign flashes a much longer representation.

To truly comprehend everyone's lack of questioning on such a bizarre name you would have to meet the honky-tonk's longtime owner: Effie Trinket.

Effie Trinket isn't a Dawson original, but she's been around long enough to be considered a resident. Not too much is truly known about her time before entering our small town. Everything is all hearsay, like most things in rural America. Rumor has it her parents got busted early on in her life for God only knows what and did hard time for it. Rumor also has it that her mother didn't want the fatherless child and so she was dropped off on a doorstep on her mother's way to the bright lights of Hollywood. But also, rumor has it that her father was actually the one to drop her off on said doorstep on his way to chasing the tail of some fine female. Whatever the story is, one thing is obviously known: she ended up living with her uncle by the time she was ten years old.

And whatever eccentric traits were passed down from her unknown parents has lasted in her blood this entire time. She's a sight in any city, but in Dawson she's her own show. Her bottled platinum hair is always curled to perfection and her makeup can usually be seen from the other side of town. Her outfits are styled to match down to the color of her nail polish. And her demeanor makes the rest of us females seem tame in comparison. Dramatic doesn't even _begin_ to hit the nail on the well-manicured head. We're simple folk, through and through. Effie Trinket cringes at the mere idea of such an existence.

When she bought the rundown bar everyone thought it was a train wreck waiting to open. Even her own uncle tried to talk her out of it. He had always imagined that the bright-eyed blonde would take off out of Dawson for bigger things once she graduated from high school, but the diploma was handed her way and she remained. She enrolled at some local community college in a nearby town, telling everyone she ran into that her plans were to open up shop in the town she loved. Loved? I think most were just amused that Effie Trinket saw Dawson as more than a speed bump.

Story goes that the man who signed off on her bank loan all but laughed her back out into the streets, but she didn't care. She had her money and she had her destination. The place was all but condemned when she bought it, but now it's the pride and joy of Dawson. Everyone expected Effie to try to bring some sort of sophisticated martini joint to this one-horse town, but she embraced the very thing we all thought she'd try to run from. It wasn't expected, but somehow it's still been a rather charming coexistence between Dawson and Effie Trinket.

Most residents have frequented Effie's establishment their fair share of times and it's always worth coming back for the next. And although a conversation with her is anything but dull, it's always pleasant. Probably too pleasant for most, I know she always makes me feel like a shell of a human for not always looking on the sunny side of life. But it's entertainment and she means well. She always means well – and she'll make sure to tell you so too.

Of course, all that being said, the people of Dawson aren't all that picky about their establishments. As long as the beer is cold, there is a friendly face in the crowd, and the music is loud we'll usually be there. And that's why I'm not surprised that Peeta has to park his truck toward the back of the lot when we arrive at Panem a little after eight.

What I am surprised at is how relaxed I felt the entire time. I never once glanced out the window begging for the familiar building to come into view so that this encounter could be over. I never once was at a loss for words when he spoke to me. And I never once had to feign interest in something he was saying. Peeta Mellark and I have more in common than I would have thought and I'm not completely bothered by that.

The music can be heard from the parking lot as I jump from the cab of the truck. I instantly feel nerves start to overtake me, which is fairly normal when I enter a social situation, but in this moment they are stronger than ever. My mind starts to race at what people will say when I walk through the door with the ever-popular Peeta Mellark. What girls like Clove or Glimmer are going to speculate. What wisecrack Finnick is going to come up with. What kind of death glare Gale is going to give me.

Gale.

He'll probably fall off whatever barstool he might be sitting on. God, I hope he's standing. No, maybe standing isn't good either; that would give him less time to reach me. Lord knows the guy has fuse of an American made muscle car. It won't take him long to let me know just exactly what he thinks of this entire situation. This entire situation that he will no doubt read into as some sort of torrid love affair that has been happening behind his back for years. I love him dearly, but he has such a wild imagination sometimes. No, maybe I just hope that he's in the bathroom.

I am not normally one to care what others think, but when it comes to my best friend and the trust we share I'd go to any length to protect it. And I may not understand why Gale feels the way he does toward the blonde football protégé, but as his best friend and confidant I am agreeing to stand by him. Yet here I am heading toward the door with Peeta Mellark not even a foot from me. And I can pretend all I want that I don't feel this instinctive pull, like a magnet, just being within reach of him but I'd rather ignore the feeling altogether.

When Peeta opens the door for me, my senses are overloaded with the inherit smell and feel that is Panem. The bass of the music can be felt in my chest and the multiple perfumes and colognes mingle with the smell of stale beer. And yet those potent sensory devices are overridden by the mere whiff of Peeta's scent as I pass him walking into the establishment. I'm not sure if it's cologne or an aftershave of some sort, but it's now a smell that will forever be tattooed with me. A smell that makes my flesh tingle, my stomach turn to butterflies, and my fingers get this immediate need to pull him closer.

I stand just inside the door, surveying the familiar location; the dance floor is already packed, the bar is surrounded with people doing their best not to leave alone, and even the walls seemed to be lined with those that are in between dancing and a refill. For as small of a town as Dawson is it sure knows how to pull a crowd on a Saturday night. And they all seem to be familiar faces; some don't look twice at us though, while others can't seem to take their eyes off. My stomach turns at the eyes on me. For a girl that wants nothing more than to blend in, this sort of silent attention is torture.

"Ready to face the wolves?" His voice tickles my ear, as his breath is close enough to move the small hairs falling from braid. I must look like a deer in headlights and I'm not sure if he's read my mind or voicing his own thoughts, but then I feel his hand against the small of my back willing me forward. The heat I feel shoots up my spine and a rush goes through my cheeks. And I feel like he could steer me in any direction with his mere touch.

As we move through the crowd my eyes zone in on our destination and I see whom he's heading toward. My stomach starts to twist, if it wasn't already a complicated knot. Being at Panem is out of my comfort zone to begin with, walking in with the big neon sign that is Peeta Mellark makes it all the more unsettling for me.

Finnick is the first to spot us and I can see by his reaction that he's more than a bit surprised at the pairing in front of him. He unwraps his arm from his longtime girlfriend, Annie Cresta, and starts toward us and not in a silent fashion.

"Peeta Mellark!" He yells over the thumping music. "I was beginning to think you were too big time for us small town folk."

I glance over at Peeta to see him grinning and that's when I feel his hand drop from the small of my back to reach out and shake the older boy's hand in an excited fashion. I don't realize how quickly I've grown accustom to the touch of the youngest Mellark until I no longer feel it.

"Hey Finnick, it's been too long. How've you been?" Peeta smiles, letting Finnick wrap his arm around the shorter boy's neck and pulling him toward the large group in the corner.

I start to hear Finnick's smartass comment, but my attention is drawn toward the person glaring holes in me. My eyes meet Gale's; several other classmates surround him, keeping him just far enough from the part of the group Peeta is being drawn toward. Not because I truly want to, but because I know I look like a fool standing alone in front of everyone, I head toward Gale's side of the group while mentally preparing myself for whatever scolding I'm about to receive.

"Prim is looking a bit rough around the edges lately." Gale mumbles, not even bothering to look my direction as he takes of drink from his bottleneck. "Her teenage years must not agree with her."

"Bite me." I snap, my voice still muffled by the music and the crowd. He's digging and he knows it. And only Gale could get away with such a comment because I know he truly loves Prim. "I did go see my sister. Peeta just so happened to be leaving around the same time I was. Not that I have to report to you."

"Convenient." He pouts.

And I'm really not interested in him spoiling my night; he's the reason I'm here to begin with. _He's_ the one who told me I should come. _He's _the one who always insists on bringing me into places he knows I'll be uncomfortable. Of course, it's not his fault that my gut tells me the most enjoyable part of my night will be ride to and from this Dawson landmark.

We stand in silence as if in some sort of showdown and I can't help but let my eyes move toward Peeta, who's surrounded by several of his old teammates. They are all speaking animatedly so I'm surprised to see his steel blue eyes meet mine when I look up from my callused hands. Against my wishes, my stomach yet again responds to his slightest of attentions with butterflies. He gives me a smirk and I understand it because I know what he feels. This isn't his favorite place to be either and in that moment we connect with that common thread. I can't help but smile, but I do my best to hide it when Gale looks in my direction.

He's not looking at me though; he's looking past me. I turn my head toward the doorway to see Madge Undersee walking in with a friend. A _male_ friend. I quickly glance back toward Gale; his jaw is clenched and his eyes are dark. He wants to pretend he and Madge never happened, but that's how he deals with all harsh moments in his life. He completely ignores them. I suppose I have no room to judge, since I am not known to embrace my hurt either. We just let it build up. Gale's builds up into rage while mine takes the shape of walls.

Sometimes I'm not sure which is worse.

"Hey Hawthorne!" A female voice beside him tries to grab his attention from the petite blonde at the door. Samantha Wiress is leaning against the pub table, placing down her beer bottle and smiling her brilliant smile. She reaches up to rest her forearm on his shoulder, "I think it's time you push me around the dance floor."

She must have seen what I saw and, unlike me, she knows how to defuse a situation, while I tend to let it fester into a complete disaster. Gale's eyes linger for only a second longer before he grins down at the woman next to him. He pushes himself away from the pub table and offers her his hand. Gale may be a quiet, reserved individual, but if there's a place he can blow off steam its Panem. When we were in high school it was football, but that all changed his senior year.

We don't talk about that day much.

As they are heading toward the dance floor Gale takes a second to squeeze my shoulder before disappearing into the crowds. The gesture isn't lost on me and I appreciate his silent cease-fire. That's usually how it goes for us. Apologies are rare, but we never walk away angry. We've had one too many loved ones taken from us too suddenly for us to get caught up on the small stuff. I give a small smile and watch the two start moving with the fast-paced song. But it's not lost on me that I am once again left nearly alone in the crowded room.

"Hey Katniss!" A voice calls from just a few people away and I look up to see Finnick Odair waving me toward him.

Finnick and I have an amusing relationship, to say the least, but most have an amusing relationship with Finnick. He's not known for being serious about much. He's a couple years older than myself, Peeta, and Gale, but he's always been present in our lives. Well, present in Peeta and Gale's, and by associate mine. The only person that seems to get a sincere and even endearing reaction from Finnick is the meek brunette standing next to him.

Annie Cresta doesn't say much, but she's always been a kind person to me and it seems everyone else. It always amazes me just how different Finnick and Annie are, but yet they work. Truly work. No one doubts that one day he'll make an honest woman of her, but with Finnick's wild child behavior and Annie's less-than pushy demeanor it could be a decade from now.

I smirk and zigzag my way through the several people that stand between myself and Finnick. He's holding his arm out to greet me when I near him. He instantly pulls me to his side and looks down at me with that goofy grin. I am stiff against him and he loves how uncomfortable this contact makes me.

"I think I am wounded by the fact that you didn't even acknowledge my existence when you walked into our beloved Panem." His voice is laced with sarcasm and I can't help but roll my eyes.

"I'm sorry, I must have missed you." I say, shrugging as he drops his arm from around my shoulders. "You know, you tend to blend in."

"I understand, I mean I guess Peet's got that unconventional appeal to him. I get distracted on a regular basis, too."

My cheeks instantly flame and my eyes drop to the floor. I'm praying the floor will open up and swallow me when I feel Peeta stepping a bit closer to me as he laughs. I would normally want to step away on instinct, being embarrassed at being the butt of one of Finnick's common sexual jokes, but I remain standing. For some reason having Peeta next to me makes me feel a bit at ease. Like a kindred spirit standing next to another.

"Finn, how many times do I have to tell you? I'm just not interested." Peeta's voice breaks the silence that feels like it has lasted an eternity, but no one else seems to notice.

"I'm hoping to get a little booze in you and you lighten up." Finnick smirks, "You've always been so damn uptight for me anyway."

"Not enough in Texas." Peeta laughs.

"Whatever, I just like to boost your ego." Finnick turns slightly to wrap his arm around Annie's waist and give her a quick peck on the cheek. "I need you on call in case this one ever realizes she's slumming with me."

I smile. It's endearing, but not sickly so. In fact, I find moments like these nice to see from Finnick every once and awhile since most of the time comes off as a total arrogant piece of work. Annie, always the quiet one, just laughs and pushes back against his chest.

"Come on, Beautiful. We're going dancing." Finnick starts to pull her away toward the dance floor and I'm beginning to think this is some sort of conspiracy the universe has against me.

I'm almost afraid to look at Peeta; I really don't want him to ask me to dance. I am a terrible dancer and I don't need an occasion to showcase that. When I do finally look his way I see he's avoiding my gaze as well. I'm not sure if I'm upset or relieved by this. The silence between us is deafening and I find myself searching for something, anything, to start conversation again. Unlike the silence we'd occasionally fall into on the ride over here this one is loaded. Loaded with expectations of the other's next move.

"I have to admit," Peeta finally speaks and I find myself sighing in relief, "I am a terrible dancer. But if I buy you a drink, does that make up for it?"

He's grinning over at me and my knees feel weak. I can't help but smile as I speak, "It's a start."

He tilts his head to toward the direction and the bar. I take the signal to lead the way and we start toward the bar. I am acutely aware of the looks some familiar faces are giving us, but I'm more aware of how Peeta's arm occasionally brushes up against mine when he steps closer to avoid colliding with someone else. It's harmless, I'm sure, but the small connection is practically a flame to my skin.

We just reach a clearing at the bar when a perky blonde appears next to Peeta, grinning. "I'll be if it isn't Peeta Mellark, back in little ole Dawson!" Her voice practically squeals over the loud music, "Becca said she'd heard you'd be coming home for the summer, but I just can't believe it."

"Glimmer." Peeta says with a tight smile, leaning against the bar and not even bothering to look over at her.

"Hey Clove! Look who it is!" Glimmer turns away for a second to wave a petite raven-haired girl toward us.

Rebbecca Clove and Sarah "Glimmer" Alexander: the two most annoying, lapdog-like girls in Dawson. In fact, I'm sure if a Pomeranian and a Chihuahua took human form they would look just like Rebbecca Clove and Glimmer Alexander. Glimmer's nickname says it all. Apparently her mother thought entering her beautiful baby girl in every pageant imaginable was required and her competitive years led her not only to her obvious nickname, but also the prize-winning personally she _thinks_ she possesses.

And what Glimmer lacks in humility, Rebbecca Clove – or Clove, as most recognize her as – makes up for in bitterness. How the two are best friends is truly beyond most comprehension. The only thing they have in common is their mean spirited nature and what stronger tie is there? The two have been basically tied to the hip since they were pulling pigtails in kindergarten. And they've been destroying teen spirit ever sense.

"Remind me why we came here tonight?" Peeta leans close to me to whisper and I laugh, feeling oddly pleased.

"You dragged me here." I smirk, enjoying how his dimple appears and his blue eyes dance with amusement.

"Ah yes, but what other excuse did I have to get you alone even if it's just for a car ride?"

He's flirting. Peeta Mellark is flirting with me. Peeta Mellark is flirting with me, Katniss Everdeen. And he couldn't look more attractive doing it. I want to say something, I want to be as smooth as he is, but everyone who even slightly knows me knows that's not possible. He continues to smile at me and I know even in the dim light he can see my blush.

"Peeta Mellark, how the hell are you?" Clove's voice pulls his attention from me and I've never wanted to punch someone more. She's a petite girl, but her attitude stacks up with that of the tallest man. She crosses her arms over her chest and pops her hip out in that standard attitude stance. Her eyes roam over Peeta before practically discarding me like an old sandwich with a mere glance. I am obviously not worth her time and she has not shame in letting me know that.

"Can't complain, Clove." Peeta says with a shrug. "Where's Marvel and Cato?"

"Ancient history, baby." Glimmer makes her reappearance into the forced conversation by leaning close to Peeta, Clove laughing at her obvious drunk behavior.

Peeta takes a step back, closing in on me and I can't help but feel slightly protective over something that isn't even mine. Has never been mine. Will never be mine. I truly need to get a damn grip. I look away from the trio and see if the bartender has decided to make his grand appearance to help break up this interaction. No such luck.

"I assume you both remember Katniss Everdeen?" Peeta says, a blunt ploy to bring their attention to me. Of course they remember me. I haven't left Dawson and neither have they. We remember each other every Saturday night, Sunday morning, and any other social events we may attend at the same time.

Clove looks over at me once again - this time for longer than a dismissive second - and Glimmer looks like some sort of predator as she sizes me up, twisting a blonde strand through her fingers.

"Hard to recognize her with Gale not attached to her hip–"

"Or her to his." Clove finishes Glimmer's sentence and the split second look of slight disappointment on Peeta's face doesn't go unnoticed by me.

"I guess the same can be said for you two." I finally speak, getting more fed up by the moment. "Kind of like Lloyd and Harry."

They don't get the reference and continue to just stare at me, but that all fades to the background in my mind when I see Peeta's bright grin out of the corner of my eye. He gets the _Dumb and Dumber_ reference. More importantly, he thinks it's funny. Not many would consider me humorous, but when I have my moments I'm grateful someone is around to get it. And right now I'm extremely glad it's Peeta.

I can tell Glimmer is about to say something when I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. I quickly reach into my jeans and pull out the device, seeing Prim's name above a picture from last summer. She knows where I am – or where I was, in her mind. She probably assumes I've already found an excuse to leave. I look up at Peeta, who's watched me pull out my phone, and show him the screen. He gives me a begging look that I assume is telling me to hurry back before I turn and start towards the door, needing to find some place quieter to answer.

As I'm leaving I notice Clove and Glimmer's respective, assumed, exes standing at the corner of the bar. Marvel is looking in the direction I just came from, while Cato has decided following my whereabouts is more interesting. He's obviously a complete creep. I remember the stories Gale used to tell about how he treated the girls – mostly Clove – he dated. Marvel didn't seem like a total jewel, but at least he is just a mindless drone. He and Glimmer have a lot in common.

Finally I push through the last of the crowd and put my phone to my ear, "Hey Prim."

"Where are you? Are you still at Panem?"

"Yeah, where else would I be?" I ask, stepping to the corner of the building so I can hear her better.

"Don't play dumb with me, Katniss. I know you hate that place. I'm surprised you've lasted this long."

I can hear the humor in her voice and I'm only slightly annoyed that my younger sister seems to be more knowledge of me than I am. Of course, that's another trait she gets from our father.

"Did you call for something or just to give me useless trivia about myself?" I shove my free hand in my back pocket.

"You hate lima beans, but everyone hates lima beans. Okay, here's a good one; you have always liked –"

"Prim!" I cut her off, "The point?"

"Are you coming over for lunch tomorrow? Momma says she'll cook. And she's even talking like she'll go to church too."

I'll believe it when I see it, but I say nothing. I know Prim still carries a small flame of hope that one day our mother will someday wake up out of the fog she's lived in for so long now. It infuriates me, but it also devastates me when I hear that familiar tinge of hope in Prim's voice when she talks about future plans.

"I'll be there around eleven." I sigh, looking out into the dark parking lot.

"Or you can just come home with us after church." Prim's voice is still hopeful and it makes me want to yank my mother right out of her dazed reality.

"Sure, I'll call you tomorrow. Okay?" I don't want to talk about this. I don't want to give my sister fake hope, but I refuse to diminish what little she has. This town is too small for another destroyed story. And I cringe at the idea of being another statistic.

"See you tomorrow!" She hangs up and I smile at the pure joy I hear in her voice.

I look down at my phone as the call ends and the screen goes dark. I envy her for the perpetual optimism she has. She deserves so much more than this town or our family can ever offer her. I just hope one day we don't become some sort of roadblock for her bright future.

My phone goes back into my pocket as I start to turn back toward the building. My nerves are already getting the best of me at going back instead to meet Peeta. My boots crunch against the rocks, but stop suddenly when I see two strong shadows rounding the corner to greet me.

Marvel and Cato.

Or Sawyer Daniels and Joshua Cato. Both were part of the group that practically ran our rural school and are the only two that truly haven't left the halls of Dawson High School behind. They both played football with Gale and at one time made up the small group of friends that Gale had, besides myself. You normally didn't see Gale, Peeta, Marvel, and Cato when they weren't together – Finnick usually not far behind either. They always stood out as being the jackasses, but they made for a good laugh. At least, that's the excuse gave me on numerous occasions.

At first I think about just ignoring them and going around - they are no doubt just trying to get a rise out of me after seeing me with Peeta and their two girlfriends. Or…ex-girlfriends? Whatever. It's easier to keep track of a firefly than their statuses. But then I decide it's best to say something, why not poke the beast?

"I think you passed the bar," I say, pointing back towards the doorway, "It's back that way."

"We saw that," Cato counters, crossing his arms over his chest. "Looks like your boyfriend was holding up quite an audience there."

I don't have a boyfriend. I want to say it and everyone knows that's the case – or at least they should - but I am not about to take whatever bait they are throwing my way. Instead I just shake my head and start to walk around them, but Marvel steps in front of me. He's so much taller than me that I have to tilt my head to look up at him. I immediately step back and try to remain calm. These two are harmless. Sure, they talk an awful lot, but when you live out here there isn't much else to do.

"No need to hurry back, he seemed to be doing just fine without you." Marvel smirks.

"Almost like you aren't even missed." Cato laughs and Marvel joins him.

I roll my eyes and take a deep breath, "You'd know what that's like, wouldn't you?"

I don't want to wait for an answer and once again I try to walk past them. This time Cato's strong arm reaches out to grab around my waist and I instantly push him back, my hands landing firm on his arm. His grip grows tighter and I can hear Marvel's amused laughter from beside him. My heart is racing out of my chest.

"Where are you going?" Cato's voice is full of venom and it makes my stomach turn. "We're not finished here."

His other arm starts to come around me and I know if he does that there's no way I'll be able to fight back. Cato is strong. Brute force alone would be enough, but the fact that I can't even seem to see straight doesn't help my situation.

"Hey!"

A booming voice surprises us all and my eyes dart toward the corner of the building once more to see my last hope standing there. Cato's arm instantly drops from around my waist and he steps back. That's when I realize just what kind of a hold he had on me and it takes all I have to keep my balance. Before I know it, Peeta is shoving Cato and the two are facing off, Marvel and I both a bit stunned.

"What the hell, man?" Cato argues, "We were just talking with her."

"Well I think you're done talking." Peeta's voice is low and I don't think I've ever seen such aggression from him. I wasn't even sure he had it in him.

Cato steps forward, taking Peeta's words as some sort of challenge. I should be focused on the situation at hand, but my mind travels to just how strong Peeta is. I thought Cato was strong, but apparently college football has really worked out well for the other blonde because he's nearly the size of the brutal Cato.

"She's not your property, she can do what she wants." Cato's jaw is clenched and Peeta's mirrors his.

"And I'm sure being manhandled by a meathead like you is on the top of that list." Peeta comments, "Now I'm not going to tell you again, move on."

"Or what?"

"Come near her again and I'll personally give you a reason to go to the emergency room." Peeta doesn't flinch and his voice remains calm, but his arms flexed slightly, showing the anger he feels.

The silence is deadly. At first I think Cato is going to throw a punch, he isn't nearly as level-headed as Peeta, but then he steps back and glances over at Marvel. The Marvel who was once so cocky about stopping me in my tracks now looks like a deer in headlights. Silently he tilts his head back toward the doors front entrance and steps past Peeta. Marvel silently follows.

We both stand there silently for a long moment, watching the two disappear from slight. When Peeta looks back at me I suddenly feel a wash of anger, the shock of the entire situation starting to wear off. I didn't need him to be my knight in shining armor. I would have held my own. I've spent most of my life telling Gale he didn't need to always protect me; I certainly don't need another male with a savoir complex in my life.

"Are you okay?" He asks, the soothing familiar voice I've become accustom to back.

"I'm fine." My voice is harsher than I expected, but I stand by it. "I would have been just fine. I don't need you to save me. I'm not some kind of damsel in distress."

"No, but Cato is an ass who's been drinking," Peeta argues and I can tell I've annoyed him with my attitude. "And he doesn't take no for an answer very often."

"I can handle myself." I argue, knowing it's foolish as it comes out of my mouth. I know Peeta's right, but I'm not about to admit that.

"Fine, then lets just say I met my Superhero quota for the evening." His joke is a dark one, but I know it's his way of throwing in the white flag. He's not about to fight over a topic he won't win – at least not out loud.

And yet again I'm in another stand off. This one isn't threatening, but more a battle of wills. I know I don't want to be the first one to admit to anything and I can tell by the look on Peeta's face that he's not interested in arguing in circles, but neither of us want to walk away either. He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks down at the gravel before letting out a deep sigh.

"Come on, I'll take you home."

And to that I don't argue.


	5. Chapter Five

**Author's Note: **Chapter Five is here! Not much to say other than this: I apologize to those who'd wish I'd skip on some of the details and get to the action. Unfortunately, I don't see that happening - I am details writer, to a fault perhaps, but details nonetheless. Plus, I am trying to get it all set up and out of the way so in later chapters I'm not going back and explaining too much back story. I hope you stay patient with me, because next chapter is going to be action _packed_. And thank you so much for all the sweet responses, favorites, alerts, etc. You are all so wonderful & encouraging. Thank you for going on this journey with me in my first THG fic. Hopefully the first of many!

And as always, **Ivory** makes all of this ten times better with her amazing beta skills. Thank you dear! You are too wonderful for words.  
_And random sidenote:_ Happy Superbowl to all my readers who will be watching today - I know I will be :)

* * *

**Summary: **There are also three types of people in Dawson, Texas: those who are trying to flee, those who embrace their small town fate, and the Mellarks. Mellark Ranch; largest cattle ranch South of Dallas, employer of ranch hand, Katniss Everdeen, and home of Ohio State Buckeye running back, Peeta Mellark. And Peeta Mellark is coming home today.

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**Lone Star State of Mine  
****Chapter Five: Cupid's Got A Shotgun**

"_He gave up on arrows & I ain't bulletproof."_

Avoidance.

It's the best defensive tactic that no one admits to. It's the reason at least one out of five disagreements don't end in murder. Sure, it's not statistically proven, but I'm no naïve fool. It's one of those defensive tactics that, if used just right, can completely defuse a situation entirely. Look at celebrities; they've got it down to a fine art. One makes an embarrassing public move, goes into hiding for a while, and then come out with a brand new blockbuster and smelling like roses some time later. Alright, maybe not the best example since most of us don't have blockbuster success on our side.

But the sentiment still rings true: there is much to be said about avoidance when used properly. Properly used I'm sure it's probably stopped a few wars, or at least stalled them dramatically. Again, my facts are not proven, but I avoid such formalities. Avoidance has its perks - that much is obvious. For example, avoiding doing homework usually means I have more time to be outside with Gale or my sister. Avoiding my mother's presence usually means that I can pretend there was no elephant in the room for another moment. Avoiding memories of high school usually keeps my sanity in tack for another day. And avoiding Peeta Mellark since last Saturday night has meant that I do not have to face my pride's triumph over common sense.

Of course avoidance, as it's more commonly known for, tends to make the matters worse once they are faced again. My grades certainly suffered from my lack of attention in high school. My mother certainly didn't change in my absence; in fact, I think she began to believe it was alright to be completely void of emotion toward her children. And my high school memories are still there waiting in vivid color whenever I lapse and turn down Memory Lane. And Peeta Mellark? Well, that's an avoidance I have yet to break.

But all good things must come to an end.

And I have to say…avoiding someone on a three-hundred acre ranch on the outskirts of a tiny town is a lot harder than it sounds. It's like avoiding snow in the Arctic. I've all but resorted to doing office work in order to avoid the youngest Mellark.

On Sunday, whether you believe or not, everyone shows up at church. And so guess who's involved in 'everyone'? You guessed it: Peeta Mellark and myself. The church really isn't that big, so avoiding him there took all but hiding out in the baptistery. Fortunately after that it was easy to take sanctuary with Prim and my mother at their home for the afternoon. Of course, Prim being the busy body that she naturally is meant that she wanted to know all of the details. Again, it's fortunate that's she's long since realized that I am abysmal at details so she gives up soon enough. Monday soon follows and I'm almost naïve enough to think our paths won't cross, but they do and far too early. It's only seven and I've just met Samantha in the barn when he walks in.

I don't mean to stare - I _never_ mean to stare - but sleepiness looks good on him. I'm beginning to think most things look good on him. His eyes are still lazy from slumber, but their vibrant blue is still the same. His curls flop every which way and his cheeks are red from the early summer sunburn that we all get by the end of May. His t-shirt rises when he reaches for a pair of nearby work gloves and a toolbox.

Apparently he's said good morning without me knowing because Samantha subtly elbows me in the ribs. I quickly look from the now visible skin of his side to her face and then to his. I think I mumble a greeting, but I'm too quickly working to hide my flushed features by grabbing at any work utensil available to busy myself. It's not until he leaves that Samantha's laughter can be heard echoing through the empty structure.

"What?" I grumble, trying to act aloof. A game I'm never good at.

"We're changing horseshoes this morning," she says as she smiles.

"I know that." I'm aware I sound agitated.

"We probably won't need barbed wire." Samantha looks at the bucket of tools I've just assembled and my eyes follow hers.

My hands instantly cover my face as I feel Samantha wrap her arm around me in amusement. I've obviously never been very good at trying to look busy either. I think I've become the ranch's laughing stock overnight.

* * *

"Do you want to tell me why you've been hiding in the shadows these past couple of days?" Gale asks, lifting his pitchfork covered in muck over the wheelbarrow.

I glance at him for a moment before finding anything else to look at while I put on my work gloves. I don't want to tell him about Saturday night. He knows the basics, but he doesn't know the full reason why I disappeared without telling him goodbye. Not that it is completely uncommon. The uncommon part has come in the last couple of days when I've hardly been around to socialize. Normally I'll stick around with the others after chores to grab dinner or just relax, but both Sunday and Monday nights you can find me hiding away in my small home.

Gale tenses, I see it out of the corner of my eye, and I already know what he's coming to the conclusion of. I look up at him fully and see the silent anger that's set into his strong features. Before I can voice my objection to his thoughts he's dropped his pitchfork and stepped closer to me.

"What did he do to you?" His voice is low and deadly, just like I remember it being the day some senior tried to get the best of me our freshman year.

Forever my protector.

"Gale, relax." I groan, my voice loud compared to his. "He didn't do anything. I – I don't have to answer to you. Just leave it alone."

It comes out harder than I expected it to, but I don't waver. Instead I stare into his eyes, waiting for him to back down. I know he will because as much as Gale wants to protect me, he wants to trust me that much more. When I ask him to back off he will. Because although he may not completely understand my need to avoid certain realities, he respects my opinion enough to allow it.

Slowly his eyes soften and I feel him scan my features, because so much between us are the things that go unsaid. He's checking my stance; seeing if my confident voice echoes through to my demeanor. He then reads my expression. I know my jaw is clenched, mirroring his, and my eyes never leave his.

After a momentary standoff he must be satisfied with what he sees because he backs away and starts back toward the stall he was mucking out. That's when I realize I had been holding my breath and I exhale. Why does Peeta cause such tension between the two of us? And then it hits me. I know Gale isn't fond of Peeta, but that's not the reason for the tension. The reason for the tension stems from my sudden need to defend him. To prove to Gale he's not this superficial jock that he's somehow chalked him up to be.

"What happened?" I ask, cutting the silence like a sharp knife. The question comes out before I can even think about it. "Between you and Peeta. What happened? And when? You two used to be as thick as thieves."

"Used to be." He mumbles, but I'm not sure he wanted me to hear him because he doesn't look at me. He looks past me as though the answers are written on the stall walls behind me.

I'm waiting and I truly believe this is going to be the moment where it all comes to light. The moment where I finally understand Gale's sudden climate change toward the shining star of Dawson, toward the guy he used to stand by through thick and thin. Those times seem so long ago that I'm not sure if they ever even existed anymore. And I also realize how I'm desperate to know. I realize why: because I will side with Gale. I always have and I always will. And that means then I can finally cut these unfamiliar _feelings_ I have toward Peeta. I can finally rid myself of the awareness and excitement I feel whenever he's near. I will no longer be in this self-proclaimed dance with the boy I've spent my entire life avoiding.

But then he grabs his once forgotten pitchfork and disappears into the stall, "Just be careful."

I'm stunned. I want to run in after him and knock him over the head. Demand that if he's going to root himself so deep into my business that he better be good and ready to tell me why he's Peeta's anti-cheerleader. But then I realize this is what Gale and I do; we test each other. We push each other's buttons to see where we lie. Because most everything between goes unsaid. And it works for us. But now it pisses me off. He wants me to push because that shows him I have something truly invested. I bite my lip and dig twice as hard into the muck of my stall.

Damn you, Gale.

* * *

Tuesday afternoon is far less eventful than Tuesday morning. Gale and I, like always, have called a silent truce and have decided to steer clear of all issues that could be even remotely linked back to past friendships, Saturday night, burnt bridges, and all things Peeta Mellark. In fact, the afternoon is pretty standard as far as conversation and events go. Gale talks about his younger siblings, I mention Prim's attention to Rory, we both laugh at the idea. We know they're playing with a fire we never could get right. And we both know it's better left unlit. At least for us.

Gale sets two paint cans atop the workbench and looks over at me. He has a goofy grin on his face that can only be accompanied by an equally goofy plan for what we should be doing tonight.

"I hear Sae is making lamb stew tonight." He starts; tossing a few used paintbrushes in the pan I'm currently sorting through, causing several splatters to land on my arms. He laughs and I just give him my best glare. "I owe Beetee a round for losing last week."

"You lost to Beetee at darts?" I laugh, raising an eyebrow. "Sounds like you're getting a bit rough around the edges, Hawthorne."

He elbows me in the side, "It was an off night. So are you coming or not?"

"Not." I admit, still laughing. "If you don't mind I think I'll live vicariously through reruns of Dallas."

"Vicariously? You have been hanging around College Boy too much."

His comment is meant to be light, but it's tender territory and I'm not ignorant to the catch of bitterness in his voice. But I'm not interested in another pointless fight and it doesn't seem Gale is either because he quickly grabs his old work gloves, shoves them in his back pocket and heads toward the door.

"If you change your mind we'll be there around six." He's smiling, but I can tell he's feeling a bit foolish. "Have a good night, Catnip."

I watch him leave. It's hard to be mad at him for long especially since I know the reason we butt heads so much: we're cut from the same cloth. His temper burns bright, just like mine. He's as stubborn as a mule and I live to be that much more stubborn. We cut at each other just as much as we sooth. I suppose that's just our fate.

Before long I find myself at the brass sink positioned toward the back of the familiar barn. These paintbrushes aren't going to wash themselves. I half laugh and curse Gale for so smoothly removing himself from this chore. He's a hard worker, no one would argue otherwise, but when it comes to getting a cleanup crew afterwards I'd say he's lacking. He knows it too.

I turn on the water and start scrubbing, knowing as soon as I finish this task my day is complete. I do love my job, but the call to end the day is always a strong one. I suppose that comes with working your tail off for nearly ten hours with the sun beating down on you like a leather whip. I hear the side door open, but I don't take notice of _who_ opened them until I hear a toolbox slam down nearby.

Of course it's Peeta Mellark. I'm beginning to think this damn barn is the essence of this forsaken dance we've been doing. He's noticed me, I'm sure of it. He hasn't particularly told me so, but it's hard to miss the person standing in front of the large – and rather loud – sink in the back. He doesn't say anything, but continues to look through the draws of the workbench. I continue to scrub the brushes, doing my best to focus on each tiny piece of whitewash that travels toward the drain.

These brushes have never been cleaner, I'm sure of it, but I was hoping my work would keep me busy until he left. It didn't and he's still rummaging around. And my hands have all but shriveled up beneath the warm water. I look up at the dirty mirror; I can just make out his form behind me. He's look through the wiring tools and I can tell from the hunch of his shoulders he's becoming a bit frustrated. I take this opportunity to turn the water off, the silence so very prominent now, and watch him through the mirror.

"Are you done avoiding me?" He asks and my heart stops.

I quickly avert my eyes, not that he could truly know if I was looking at him or not. I grab a nearby towel and start to dry the brushes. I replay the question over in my head. I'd expected him to sound at least somewhat annoyed, but he doesn't. In fact, to my frustration, he sounds slightly amused. I'm on my third brush when I glance up into the mirror again and I stare directly into his eyes. He's now looking at me through the reflection, leaning against the workbench. I want to look away, but I'm drawn to those blue eyes that still hold their vibrancy even in this old, mistreated mirror.

"Because if you are, I could really use your help fixing a snag in the western fence line." His eyes don't leave mine.

"I – um," I want so desperately for the floor to open up and swallow me yet again, but it doesn't and I'm left standing here like a stuttering fool.

"Your secret's safe with me anyway." Peeta smiles, "No one knows I practically saved your life from the evil monsters of Dawson. Well, no one except for Finnick."

Except for Finnick? That's like writing a letter to the town paper. Everyone will have known for at least twenty-four hours at this point. Finnick couldn't keep a secret if his life depended on it. Well, that may not be the case, I don't really know, but that boy sure does love to talk.

Peeta must see my distress because he laughs, pushing himself away from the workbench to head toward me, "I'm kidding."

My skin betrays me when he's near and I feel it start to tingle with the awareness I wish wasn't there. He stops short just behind me and we're at tense standstill. His eyes still don't leave mine. I want to kick him for being so light and amused when I feel so very on edge when he's near. And yet him I want him this close. That's what this avoidance of mine has taught me; I think of Peeta more when he's not near. I find my thoughts lingering to the last time I saw him. I find myself wanting to search him out.

"So are you going to help me or not?" He asks, his smile turning up on one side.

I turn around to face him, realizing we're much closer than the mirror had allowed me to believe. My breath catches, but only for a moment and I look up to him as I pull my work gloves from my back pocket.

"Like you could do it without me." And before I lose my momentary confidence, I turn on my heels and head toward the door he just came in through.

* * *

After about an hour into repairing the fence I realize that the word "snag" is truly an understatement of the century. Apparently a rather large branch had fallen during a recent storm and taken part of the fence with it, but fortunately Peeta had come prepared. While he made easy work of taking the chainsaw and cutting up the offending branch into pieces, I made myself useful by straightening the new wire we'll be using. Luckily this was a part of the ranch that even the cattle didn't venture to often thanks to the lack of water source and harsher terrain. It wasn't a wooded area by any means, but the low hills made it ideal for heavy brush and several large trees.

We work in silence; any conversation we could wish to have is easily overpowered by the noise of the chainsaw. Of course, that doesn't stop my eyes from wandering in Peeta's direction more often than I'd ever admit to.

His grey OSU shirt is damp with sweat and his curls are beginning to stick to his forehead like a soggy mop. He's wearing sunglasses to protect his eyes from any sort of stray woodchip. And my eyes could not overlook his arms. Those strong arms that look somehow so perfect working here on the ranch. Those strong arms that I know have helped him win several important football games. Those strong arms that so willingly jumped to my defense on Saturday. Those strong arms that I'm so suddenly afraid to push away from.

I hate the Mellark genes. It would be one thing if he were good looking and a complete asshole or ugly with a heart of gold, but no. God has decided it be best to give Peeta Mellark both pleasing traits. Another sign to me that God and I have not always been on same page when it comes to my life.

Finally Peeta kills the engine of the chainsaw, pulling me from my thoughts, and starts moving away the pieces from the snagged fence. I quickly fall in beside him to move some of the larger pieces that require two sets of able hands. I appreciate how he doesn't even give me a look of uncertainty that I can actually help. It's a small gesture, but even in my years on the ranch I still have some that look at me like I'm a delicate flower whenever I try to do something one of the men usually do. I appreciate his trust and it's immediately something I don't want to lose.

Within a half hour the task is finally complete, the hard part behind us with moving the pieces of wood, and step back to look at our handy work. It's a wired fence, I don't expect to see a work a beauty, but I'm more concerned that it's stabilized enough to stop a rebellious young calf should they stray this far.

When I turn back around I see Peeta sitting on the tailgate of his truck drinking from a bottle of water. Without a word I start toward the spot next to him, silently accepting the bottle of water he himself just drank from. We sit in silence, once more, appreciating the setting Texas sun and evening breeze rolling over the hills.

"God, I love this place." Peeta says.

I smile as I look over at him. I can feel the reverence he speaks with and I understand it completely.

The comfortable silence falls over us again and this time my mind is wandering in directions I know it shouldn't. Peeta is the youngest, Clement and Reese have both set their lives in different directions away from Mellark Ranch. And Ohio is certainly a far cry from the rural lands of Dawson. The mumbles have been going on for years now, but with Peeta's graduation in two years time they've gotten louder. The cynics of the group swear they'll be out of their jobs soon and those too afraid to see it end avoid the topic altogether.

"Do you –" I start to ask, but lose my courage and look down at the ground below us before trying again. "Are you coming back after school? To take over for your dad?"

"I want to." Peeta says, taking in a deep breath. "I plan to. But not without a good degrading from my mother for the choices I've made, I'm sure."

I watch as his hands run up and down the denim on his thighs. He's obviously anxious when talking about his mother and I don't blame him. Everyone is anxious when it comes to dealing with Mrs. Mellark. And her reputation with her three sons is not a bright one. Most know of the abuse they've all taken in one way or another, but no one would admit to knowing a single thing. I want to say something, but I'm not sure what. Instead I left my left foot up to rest on the tailgate so I can rest my chin on my knee. I'm still looking over at him when he turns to look at me with that trademark easy smile.

"She's not all bad though." He must know what we all say about her, but he stops short of what he's about to say to defend her. It's like he can't even think of a defending argument. "I – I think she just wants us to have better than what she has here. I think she expected more out of her life."

More? I can't imagine many people in Dawson wanting more out of life than what the Mellarks have. They are the shining example of what a little piece of paradise looks like.

"I don't get it either," Peeta smiles, seeing the confusion I thought I was doing well to hide. "I prefer the worst day here to any day away from here. But I think she thought my father would get tired of playing cowboy sooner or later and sell the place. When that didn't happen she turned – well, you know."

I nod, because I do know. I realized a long time ago that Peeta and I have something pretty trying in common: less than perfect mothers. Mothers that we will spend forever trying to please in our own way, but always come up short. But Peeta is better for it where as I'm not convinced that I am. I know I've become bitter toward the woman who has all but written Prim and I off. Peeta refuses to even admit to Mrs. Mellark's abuse where I continually look down upon my mother for her blatant disregard for us.

"At least we have one decent parental figure, right?" I give a weak smile, speaking of my father in the present tense sends a shock of pain to my heart that I wasn't expecting. Peeta looks at me and I can see the sadness in his eyes and for the first time I don't resent it. I usually resented those who felt pity for me at the loss of my father, but with Peeta I see a genuine understanding. Like the look I receive from Gale from time to time.

"How's Prim and your mother doing?" He asks and I know he means specifically with the loss of my father. Everyone knew how hard my family took it and everyone knows the difficulty my mother has been since.

"They're okay. I know it was years ago," I shake my head, looking back toward the sunset, "But some days I wake up and I feel like it just happened."

I'm not sure where the sudden honesty came from, but I feel slightly relieved when I say it. Like I'm finally able to be honest about how its affecting me. With Prim I have to be strong. With my mother I have to tough. With Gale I have to be slightly removed, because I don't want him to think that I somehow believe my situation is worse than his. And with everyone else I am just fine. It feels good to not be okay, even if the moment is fleeting.

He's watching me; I can see it out of the corner of my eye. I wrap my arms around my propped up knee and smile, wanting to move on before I completely lose all control. "Prim is getting ready to start high school in the fall. So of course, she now knows everything."

"Naturally." He laughs and I'm grateful for his ease into a new conversation. "Wow, I can't believe Prim is going to be in high school. I remember when she was still chasing you around and you still had two braids instead of one. And you always wore overalls. _Always_."

The expression of surprise isn't hidden well on my face. I want to say something witty, but, alas, I am still Katniss Everdeen and cunning responses are usually not forthcoming when I am surprised. He looks over at me and laughs again, shaking his head.

"Don't worry, if it makes you feel any better, when I was eight I wore my mom's apron. Every day. For an entire summer. Clement and Reese both have blackmail pictures." Peeta grins. "I think overalls pale in comparison."

I smile, but it's slightly forced as I work on suppressing the sense of surprise that I still feel in my stomach. I clear my throat and shake my head, "I can't believe you remember that, but I suppose Dawson is pretty small. Not a lot of people to notice."

"I think I'd notice you in the largest of cities."


	6. Chapter Six

**Author's Note: **Chapter Six is here! Not much can be said, other than I think - or I hope - some questions are _beginning_ to be answered with this chapter. I'm not going to lie, it's been one of my favorites to write. So I hope you all enjoy! Again, thank you from the bottom of my heart for the amazing response I've been getting for this story! You are all truly the best. It does help with inspiration to know that you are all enjoying the story so much. I hope you continue to!

_Warning:_ due to my crazy schedule, along with Ivory's crazy schedule, this chapter is beta-ed solely by me. Which means there will probably be plenty of mistakes. They are all mine, I take credit for them & I did my best to fix all the grammar mistakes I could find. But I am no where near as talented as Ms. Ivory. So be warned & blame me.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Summary: **There are also three types of people in Dawson, Texas: those who are trying to flee, those who embrace their small town fate, and the Mellarks. Mellark Ranch; largest cattle ranch South of Dallas, employer of ranch hand, Katniss Everdeen, and home of Ohio State Buckeye running back, Peeta Mellark. And Peeta Mellark is coming home today.

* * *

**Lone Star State of Mine  
****Chapter Six: These Are My People**

"_Holler 'bout a bad call; preacher breaking up the fight."_

Church League Softball.

Every sport has its perks: football has cool fall weather, baseball is the honored sport to have the beautiful weather of summer, basketball is an inside sport – weather isn't even thought of. And Church League Softball usually has "Church Lady" food to follow, which beats even the nicest and most perfect of weather. "Church Lady" food usually beats most things. And in Dawson, the women were abducted by Paula Dean and put through rigorous testing before being returned to their families. They all pasted with flying colors and mountains of butter.

And Thursday nights during the summer in Dawson are truly a work of southern cuisine art. The tradition starts around six at the local park. It's really not much of a park; a swing set and a slide, one rundown softball diamond with enough bleacher seating to fit the Brady Bunch – so most bring their own chairs or blankets - and then there is a pavilion. And the pavilion is where the magic happens; the ladies and their given dishes usually start showing up while the first game is going on, and are all set up by the time the preacher calls for a twenty minute break in between games.

That's when the night really begin; everyone knows what they want and it's a race to get to the front of the line first. Southern hospitality goes out the window when Mrs. Undersee's pecan pie is involved. And the "Ladies' First" rule? Oh no. You obviously haven't had Mags' fried chicken. Of course, there is plenty to go around and most of us can usually afford to skip a meal, but when this kind of food is involved it's like we've all been on a liquids only diet for the last thirty days.

The games themselves provide the entertainment, but the food is what draws the crowd in this small town. We all know good food and we all know how to appreciate it.

Fortunately, the games are all for fun. The teams don't change much from one summer to another. But then again, there really aren't any rules about adding to the roster. So a team gaining one player or another from week to week isn't new. Majority of the players are men and as much as they'll laugh that it's all for fun, I've seen instances that turns Pastor's face red with shock from the language that comes out of these boys' mouths when a call doesn't go their way. But no matter what arguments take place they can usually be all forgotten by the time Greasy Sae pulls out her homemade ice cream.

And tonight is a good night for a cool treat. The Texas heat is on high and even flying down a dirt road with the windows down doesn't do much to subdue it. But when your old pick up truck lost its air conditioning abilities before you were even born there isn't many other options. Prim has already drank half the water bottle I bought for her and she's leaning her head out the window like an old hound. Her smile is tired, but she's still humming along with the music coming across the tattered radio.

"I think I should go into the bumper sticker business." She muses, her eyes closed as the wind whips the pieces falling from her ponytail around her relaxed face. I know she can't see my confused expression, but she must sense it because she goes on without a word from me. "My first one would be: 'Welcome to Texas: Winters are great, but don't be fooled you're screwed come summer time.'"

Our laughter fills the cab and I shake my head. Prim could do so many things if she put her mind to it and for that reason I don't ever doubt her when she changes her career every other day. Of course, bummer sticker maker is one of the stranger ones. Most days she wants to be a nurse or even a doctor, but she doesn't admit to that one too much. I think she fears she's dreaming too big. Everdeens don't come from much and we don't seem to make too much either. Sure, we live an honorable existence, I suppose, but it's a humble one and some days I think that it's going to be Prim's stumbling block.

Her potential screams for so much more than this small town of Dawson, but the Everdeen in her doesn't let her forget the rest of us. I understand that. I know I'm the same, but for me it doesn't feel like a burden because I know I'm not meant for much. I'm content in this place living from paycheck to paycheck. In fact, it's all I've ever wanted. She never says so, but Prim wants more.

And she deserves more.

The rest of the fifteen-minute drive is spent with Prim going on about her time spent volunteering at the local vet clinic or how she had a couple classmates over several nights ago. We don't mention Mother. We've become rather good at dancing around that issue. Whenever the conversation looks as though it could head in that direction one us quickly turns directions. Maybe it makes us terrible children, but most days we feel as though we're talking her issues in circles. And it's not like she ever cares about the toll she's taken on our family. She's been long gone for years now, I'm not sure she's even aware she has an affect on us.

We used to spend hours trying to think of ways to pull her out of this forever rut that she got herself into after Daddy's passing, but once plan after plan fails you begin to waste your energy elsewhere. And so that's what we do. Now that I've moved out I try not to bring her up and Prim will only mention something if she's having an especially bad day.

"I hope Mrs. Cresta brought her chicken salad." Prim says as we pull into the impromptu parking lot of the park. "I've practically had dreams about it since the Memorial Day picnic."

I am about to respond until I see the one person I've found myself overly drawn to these past few days climbing out of his truck nearby. My mind completely clears of whatever I was about to say to Prim as I watch Peeta reach into the bed of his truck and pull out an old sports bag.

I kill the engine and hear Prim clearing her throat extravagantly. My eyes dart back over at her and I can't help but blush when I see the obvious smile painted across her face.

"Don't say anything." I mumble, pushing my door open.

Prim mimics my movements and laughs, "What would I say? I mean besides Peeta and Katniss sittin' in a tree –"

"Primrose Everdeen." My tone is low through my teeth, hoping she might actually think I'm angry and hush. The last thing I need is Peeta – or anyone - hearing her singing that God-awful song.

She stops, but her melody-like laughter tells me she knows I'm not actually mad. Not that I've ever been good at being mad at my baby sister. The problem is: she knows it.

We start towards the field that already has several players warming up. The audience has started to gather around the diamond while some of the women are starting to set up their dishes nearby. I try to tell myself I'm walking a little slower than normal because we're early. But I know the way my eyes tend to want to pull in _his_ direction every few seconds isn't due to the time.

"Katniss!" My heart rate is linked to that voice and my eyes finally cast a good look in the direction they've been threatening to turn toward. Peeta is jogging towards us and Prim doesn't hesitate to give me a knowing look.

"Hey Peeta," Prim says first with a bright grin and again I'm reminded why I am so thankful for her casual, carefree nature that eases most situations.

"Hey Prim," Peeta smiles back, adjusting the strap of his bag. "How's your summer?"

"Can't complain. _Something_ has put Katniss in an unusually good mood this summer, so life is pretty good." Prim smirks, Peeta continues to smile, and I quietly pray for the ground to open up and swallow me. Her eyes look past Peeta and then back at us, "Hey, Sarah just got here. I'm going to say hi. Good luck tonight, Peeta!"

"Thanks," Peeta says, giving a casual wave as she runs pasted him.

I look to the direction she's taken off toward and inwardly groan; Sarah is nowhere in sight. My cheeks are still burning when Peeta looks back at me, but he doesn't look anything less than perfect. God, the world is truly against me.

"I'm glad you're in a good mood." Peeta says, looking over at me as we start to walk toward the field.

"Prim talks too much." I mumble, tucking a stray hair behind my ear. I've decided it's better to look straight ahead.

His laugh is infectious and I find myself breaking into a grin myself. We fall into one our comfortable silences as we close the short distance from the parking lot to the dugout of his team. People are continuing to fill in around the fence as both teams gain members on the actual diamond.

When I look over at Peeta he's unzipping his old sports bag and pulling out an old glove.

"Have you played before?" He asks, offering the glove to me.

I know my eyes grow wide as I look at him, "Does hiding in the outfield during P.E. count?"

"Outfield experience. Perfect." Peeta grins, "We're short a right fielder."

"Oh no," I start to shake my head; trying to push back the glove he's forced into my hands. "You know, sports don't come natural to all people, Peeta. This is _not_ a good idea."

"Katniss, it's right field. I'm not asking you to throw a no-hitter." Peeta laughs, turning on his heels to head toward the rest of his team.

_Our_ team.

* * *

Surprisingly, three innings into the game and I have yet to make a mistake. I have also yet to be up to bat or had the ball within ten feet of me, but I like to count the small victories in my life.

And more surprisingly, I've had a lot of fun being a part of this summer tradition and enjoy most of my team. This is quite the band of misfit players. Most have an athletic background, but none seem to take the game too seriously. Finnick spends more time running his mouth than covering first base. Beetee argues with "ref" Wiress over every call – including the ones that work in our favor. Gale is busy trying to coach Rory into becoming a better player while Rory is busy mocking Gale's coaching behavior. Reese and Peeta are continually talking trash while Clement silently, like always, shows up his two brothers.

And looking into the crowd shows the same carefree nature. Annie, sitting next to Madge, can't keep her eyes off her boisterous boyfriend. Prim has finally found Sarah and a group of other girls. Even Marvel and Glimmer look like their enjoying themselves, but I try to avoid looking in their direction. My stomach still turns sour when I remember that night. Haymitch is standing against the fence, coaching both teams as though this were football practice. The women in charge of dinner have finally finished their set up and are now occupying up several blankets behind home plate. Clement's wife is among them and it doesn't go unnoticed how loudly she cheers whenever he does _anything_.

And I suddenly realize I'm beginning to understand the look in her eyes.

That feeling hits me like a ton of bricks and I think it's enough to scare me back into my ever-present tendency for avoidance, but I'm not allowed to focus on it that long because soon our team is up to bat and I'm third in the line-up this time around. The thought makes my palms sweat and my stomach twist.

Peeta gives me a reassuring smile before he walks out of our dug out. He's up first and everyone on our team instantly starts cheering him on. I find my own nerves put at bay for a moment while I focus in on the way the tension in his arms showcases his practiced muscles.

I watch him for a moment longer while he takes a few practice swings before stepping into the box to bat. Gale's eyes are intense and try I ignore the obvious determination to strike Peeta out that's behind them. His toss is harder and Peeta lets the first one pass. Wiress calls it a strike and Beetee is soon to follow with his rebuttal.

Peeta doesn't seem phased, but Gale looks pleased with himself. Not something that most would notice, but I've spent most of my life reacting to those subtle expressions. Reese claps his hands loudly from his shortstop position cheering Gale on.

With the second toss, Peeta gets his stride and the "ting" sound of the ball meeting his bat fills the evening. The ball soars above the infield's heads and makes a perfect line toward right field. Peeta starts to run toward first base while Cato runs back toward the fence where the ball has landed.

Peeta's football training pays off as he rounds first and heads straight toward second. Reese is now covering second while the second basemen goes out to be the cutoff for Cato. Peeta is rounding second - making sure to tap Reese on the back has he passes - by the time the ball hits the second basemen's glove. And he comes to a slow stop at third. Jackie just gets out of his way when he comes jogging in.

Reese holds the ball, walking it back to Gale once he realizes Peeta isn't going anywhere. Our team cheers for Peeta while Clement walks up to the plate to bat next. And my nerves wake back up as I realize it's now my turn to stand inside the "on deck" position. I slowly grab a bat and walk out onto the field, wiping my free hand on my jeans. The sweat pools back into the creases instantly.

At least Clement is before me and Peeta is on third. He'll easily hit his younger brother home and our team will be up a point. My turn to bat won't be nearly as important once at least one of the Mellark boys has crossed home plate. I watch Clement get in his stance and I know that I should be practicing my own swing, but in order to practice that would mean I'd have to know what I was doing. And I don't.

Standing watching Clement bat is probably the best practice I could get at this point, but my session is short lived when Clement swings on Gale's first pitch and the ball pops high up into the air. Clement looks annoyed and Reese takes several steps back and catches the fly ball before his younger brother can even reach first base.

"Clement is out!" Wiress calls and Clement shakes his head before heading toward our dugout.

"Just relax, Katniss." Clement smiles, tapping my shoulder and giving me a reassuring nod.

I slowly make my walk of shame up to the plate and look towards Gale. He's smiling and normally that's enough to calm any nerves I may have, but tonight it does nothing. I am slightly relieved knowing he would never try to make me look like a fool, but the unfortunate part is that I don't need his help. I can do this task all by myself.

"Come on, Katniss!" Prim's voice cheers in the crowd.

"You got this, Katniss." I hear Peeta's voice behind me at third. "Gale's got nothing."

It's a common phrase. It's not a personal attack. I know Peeta doesn't mean it as a negative comment toward Gale, but as a way to give me some sort of comfort. But Gale doesn't see it that way and I can tell. He glances at Peeta for only a moment, but I know the anger is there. When he looks back at me his jaw is tense and my grip tightens on my bat. The ball lobs toward me and when I swing there is nothing but the whiff of air. Both teams begin to cheer again. My team is cheering for my to hit it next time while Gale's team is cheering for him to keep up the good work.

"Keep your eye on the ball, Katniss." Peeta cheers and I can't help but feel relief that he still believes in me. "He'll throw it right down the middle. Gale isn't quick enough for any tricks."

Again, I know Peeta is saying those things for my benefit, but with Gale's talent as his target he's playing with fire. My eyes are on Gale and his jaw is clenched as he glares toward Peeta.

"Keep your mouth shut, Mellark." Gale spits.

My attention turns toward third base where Gale is looking and Peeta looks slightly amused. He shakes his head and laughs, "Relax Hawthorne. I'm just cheering on a teammate. You might want to thicken that skin, man."

"My skin is thick enough," Gale argues back, taking several steps toward third base. "I just don't appreciate you using me as a punching bag while you cheer on 'your _teammate_'."

My back straightens up and my eyes bounce back and forth between the two. I know mine are the only ones following this interaction. The whole crowd has gone quiet along with the two teams. If I wasn't so invested I would almost find this scene comical. Two grown men acting like hypersensitive teenage girls over something one of them said.

Peeta rests his hands on his hips, "Come on, Gale. Just pitch the damn ball. If it means that much to you I'll keep my mouth shut."

"Oh now I have to ask you to keep your mouth shut?" Gale's eyes grow along with his anger. Whatever Peeta just said has obviously triggered something in Gale, but as to what only they know. "I thought that was something you were good at."

"That _again_? Just let it go." Peeta runs a hand through his blonde curls.

"Just let it go? I'm sorry," Gale finally drops his glove, ball rolling into the dirt, and starts for Peeta. Peeta doesn't back down and finally comes off third base. "I didn't realize your life was forever changed by the events of that night. In fact, last time I checked your plans stayed _exactly_ the same."

My eyes scan the crowd, the confusion etched on everyone's faces. Everyone except for several and then I realize what this silent anger toward Peeta is about. My eyes go back toward the two standing in the field. The two contrast each other completely; Peeta's light hair and skin against Gale's dark hair and tanned skin. Peeta is shorter than Gale. But it doesn't look like an uneven fight.

"And that night is my fault how?" Peeta argues.

"You could have said something. You _should_ have said something!" Gale yells, stepping toward Peeta so they are only an inch from each other. "You knew that play was too much of a risk – they were too strong. Too big. You laid me out to dry!"

"You need to back up," Peeta's voice is low and the look in his eyes is the same one I saw that night when he went toe to toe with Cato.

"Or what?" Gale's voice meets Peeta's. "You going to hit me, Mellark?"

The silence is defining and my lungs seem to have forgotten how to work. I look as Reese slowly starts toward the two, almost waiting to see if this will work itself out. Clement has come back out of the dugout and so has Rory and Finnick. Haymitch, once only partially aware of the game, is now standing against the fence, his eyes never leaving the two boys.

I know we should all want to break this up before it comes to head, but we've also all seen this boiling up for several years. We're all curious and as terrible as it sounds; we're all waiting for this to be over.

Peeta is the first to move and all he does is shake his head, dropping his hands to his sides.

"Forget it, just play ball." He sighs, starting to turn back toward third base when Gale reaches out to stop him.

No one will ever know what Gale's intention was in reaching out to him, because as soon as he touches the blonde's shoulder Peeta turns around and shoves Gale. Hard.

"It wasn't just my fault, Asshole." Peeta yells. "You could have said something! We _all_ should have said something! But if I remember correctly, we all wanted to win so bad we would have done anything."

"Like throwing your best friend into the fire?" Gale yells back, shoving Peeta in return.

Before anyone can react, punches are being thrown. Gale gets a sharp hit to the jaw while the eyebrow above Peeta's left eye starts to bleed. And all at once it's chaos. Finnick, Rory, Clement, and Reese are heading toward the two while Jackie backs up and everyone else – who wasn't already – is on their feet.

Finnick has a hold of Peeta while Reese pushes Gale away, both looking a little worn for wear. Everything begins to slow down and both boys' chests are heaving. The fight may have only lasted half a minute, but the damage is done.

Peeta pulls himself from Finnick, but Clement makes sure to step in between the two. He wipes the blood from his eye and glances at Gale, who rubs his jaw.

It's in the calm after the storm that I can read their expressions. Behind the anger and annoyance is a sense of what they lost. So often the depths and security of friendship is taken for granted until something – usually so petty – happens to tear it away. And the worst part of it is, you hardly ever see it coming. In some cases the damage is done in the blink of an eye.

Or in the snap of a ball.

"If I would have known you'd be hurt I wouldn't have done it." Peeta says breathlessly, "None of us would have. It's not like we all decided you were the sacrificial lamb."

"Hurt?" Gale groans. "Hurt is a scarp on my knee, Mellark. That play destroyed me. It blew out my knee. Tore it to shreds. I couldn't play another competitive yard!"

"And I'm sorry about that!" Peeta yells, stepping forward. Finnick's hands still on his shoulder to hold him back if he decides to go back for more. "But that could have happened during any play. During any game. To any of us."

"Yeah, but it didn't happen to you. Nothing but good things ever happens to Buckeye Mellark. Haymitch made sure of that." Gale glares.

"Fuck you. You're out of line and you know it." Peeta continues to yell as though no one is listening. "Haymitch wanted all of us to go further. That's why he called the play he did and that's why _we_ went along with it. If I remember correctly, you were just as eager to get that title as we were."

Gale doesn't say anything and no one moves. The air is thick with tension and we're all afraid one tiny motion will make it all explode. Peeta looks down at the ground and shakes his head before looking back up at Gale.

"I'm done. You can be pissed off at me all you want, I'm done trying."

With that Peeta turns and starts to walk off the field. Before anyone can move from their stunned stance he is in his truck and peeling out of the parking lot.

Slowly everyone starts to move about, but the evening has gone sour. Finnick and Rory stand with Gale for a moment, checking to make sure he's okay. Reese and Clement huddle together obviously concerned for their little brother. The teams in the dugouts and the small crowd are all whispering together. I already know this story will be all over Dawson before the sun comes up tomorrow. I notice Haymitch is still standing at the fence, but now his eyes are on the ground. The guilt practically oozes from him.

And I can't stop myself from wondering how Peeta is.

* * *

The rest of the night goes by in a haze. The game is called short, everyone saying it's because they want to eat, but we all know it's because no one is in the mood to play anymore. Even the usual festivity that is eating is slightly hindered. The conversations are quiet and short. And people don't stick around to visit.

I try to check on Gale, but as soon as the game is called he disappears. Rory says he saw him getting into his truck and driving off. Prim and I climb into our own soon after dinner. Rory walks Prim to her door and I wait, slightly annoyed, while they say their prolonged goodbye. I feel guilty after I clear my throat loudly to get them to hurry along. I'm just on edge now. I try to ignore the reason why.

Prim tries to carry on a conversation throughout the ride to her and Mom's house, but my answers are distracted and my attitude is poor. Finally she gives up and silence fills the cab. When I drop her off she leans over to give me a quick kiss on the cheek and she watches me for a moment. I know she wants to say something about what happened tonight, but she doesn't.

And I am grateful.

When I pull up to my small house I suddenly don't want to go inside. I feel exhausted from tonight and I know it's not from my impromptu right field position. It's because I watched the two men of my life – although I'm not sure how big of a part Peeta is – tear each other apart. I ache remembering they used to be so close. I ache knowing that I watched the play that unraveled their friendship and knew nothing of it. I ache for Gale because I remember the day he realized he wouldn't be going to The University of Alabama. I ache for the way Peeta looked when he realized Gale blamed him for all of that.

I ache because at the end of the day it all doesn't matter anymore.

My thoughts have drifted along with my feet as I walk through the endless dirt roads that make up Mellark Ranch. The darkness comforts me as I see all the quiet barns, sheds and ranch hand homes. Even the main house is dark and I wonder what time it is.

Soon my eyes are drawn to one of the only soft glows of light I see and it's coming from the main barn. I know the work has been done for several hours now. Normally I mind my own business, but I've noticed over the years that Mellark Ranch has become like my home and I am rather protective of it. I like to know as much as possible about the place I've grown to love.

When I enter the cracked door I see where the light is coming from. It's the light right above the old sink with the cracked mirror. In its reflection I see myself in the background and Peeta's bruised face in the foreground. He notices me soon after I walk into the light and gives a tired smile.

"If you've come in here to tell me to apologize or defend Gale's honor I'm really not interested." He says, looking me in the eye via our reflections.

At first I'm not sure how to react. Several months ago that would have been the only reason why I was here, but now that I stand there in front of him and that's not even on my mind. I blink several times and then shake my head. I've never been good with words and fortunately Peeta seems to understand that.

"I never would have gone through with that play if I'd have known," Peeta's voice is quiet and I'm not sure if he's talking to me or to himself.

And I now understand why he stormed off. It's not because he got into a fight with Gale and it's not because Gale was hurt in a stupid sports accident several years ago. It's because he can't believe the guy that was once his best friend now believes he would sacrifice his future for his own. To Peeta loyalty is everything and for someone to question his is worse than the hardest blow to the gut.

And I understand that.

I walk forward, seeing that he's trying to clean up the cut above his eye. The rag he has in his hand has an ugly stain on it from his blood, but the cut above his eye is still a violent red from dried blood.

"Here," I say without thinking and take the rag from his hand. I start to dab the spot above his eye. At first I avoid is gaze, but once my eyes meet his I can't look anywhere else.

The silence between us is loaded, but for the first time that night, comfortable. And slowly the dried blood starts to disappear from around the deep gash. Gale's knuckle must have hit right on the ridge of Peeta's eyebrow bone to cause such a mark. It probably needed a stitch or two, but I doubt he'll ever go get them.

"I hid out here because I really didn't need my dad, or worse, my mother asking about what happened." Peeta states, as if he has to explain himself to me.

"Sometimes you just need to be alone." I say, understanding. "I get that."

Again, silence comes and we allow it to take over as I finish cleaning up. I place a small Band-Aid over the deepest part. Peeta tries not to wince when I push on the tender bruised area around the cut, but I notice how his eyebrows crinkle slightly and I quietly apologize.

"I'm glad you're the one who found me." He looks me in the eyes and I am now highly aware of the mere inches that separate us.

I look down to put the band-aid wrapper on the side of the sink along with the used rag, but I can't keep my eyes away and look up to find his dark blue eyes watching me.

I want to say something, but I'm not sure what to say. My skin is tingling and I'm highly aware of all of my senses. My heart is racing and my stomach is filled with butterflies, but I've never felt more alive or bolder. And when my lips meet his I swear I'll never be the same.

The kiss is light and his response is almost instant. My hands rest on either side of his face and my eyes flutter closed. I've only kissed three people in my entire life and two of them were when we were under the age of seven and don't really count. I'm not sure what I'm even doing, but I know I don't want to stop.

But I do. It's like the fearful part of my mind wakes up and I slowly pull away to look at him. And now I'm afraid because I know me. I know whenever I try to speak in moments of high emotion I usually make them worse. But I don't want Peeta to speak either because I'm now regretting everything, but only because I'm afraid this isn't what Peeta wanted. Maybe I misread everything.

"I – I –" I try to speak, while pulling away to leave.

Peeta quickly reaches out to gently tug me back toward him, "You're definitely not leaving me now."

And when his lips collide with mine I'm sure again. I'm bold again.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Author's Note: ** As always, thank you to everyone who shows support for this story. It's so much fun to write! I also have another story - one that is completely different from this one - in the works. I apologize that I take a while between updates, but I have work, etc. going on so I usually only get to write on the weekends. So thank you for your patience!

As always, Ivory saves my butt when it comes to all things beta. She is just flawless.

Without further ado, enjoy!

* * *

**Summary: **There are also three types of people in Dawson, Texas: those who are trying to flee, those who embrace their small town fate, and the Mellarks. Mellark Ranch; largest cattle ranch South of Dallas, employer of ranch hand, Katniss Everdeen, and home of Ohio State Buckeye running back, Peeta Mellark. And Peeta Mellark is coming home today.

* * *

**Lone Star State of Mine  
****Chapter Seven: Little Miss**

"_Little Miss, hide your scars."_

Morning after.

The idea alone is enough to make even the strongest groan in understanding. They happen to the best of us. Well, okay. I'm obviously not the person to speak with about "morning after" moments. I am vanilla in a world of hundreds of flavors. I don't even have many sprinkles atop me. Though, I once _did_ get drunk enough once that I had a headache the entire next day, Gale laughed so hard when he saw me that morning. I truly thought my experience was the worst it got, but he told me that was a typical Sunday night. _Sunday_ night. That was the morning I realized I was more of an amateur than I originally thought.

So needless to say, morning after experiences aren't something I've ever dealt with first hand. But from the stories Beetee and Gale have told me they aren't something I should be eager to learn about. Of course, their morning afters usually involved quietly – and quickly – finding their discarded clothes and high-tailing it out of there before their bedmate wakes up to realize they don't even remember their name. Again, apparently my situation isn't as worse as it gets. But it's as worse as it gets for me.

I am not a smooth person in the easiest of situations, give me something out of my comfort zone and I become more frantic than a fish out of water. But with Peeta I surprised myself. I usually run away from new experiences, but I didn't want that moment to end. When I felt his hand grab onto my waist it was as if I found a new energy. My kissing abilities were nonexistence and for a mere second I worried that he'd be able to tell. But if he could he didn't make it known. I'm not sure how long we stood there tangled up in that moment, but by the time he slowly pulled away my arms were wrapped around his neck.

He pulled away just far enough to look into my eyes and brush a piece of hair away. The smile he wore only helped my racing heart to speed up. I think I'll remember that lopsided smile until my dying day. And I know my lips mirrored his. What else could I do? I don't think I stopped smiling the rest of the night. Even as I fell into bed I knew I was smiling. Every nerve in my body was still zinging from the moment and the sweet kiss he placed on my lips prior to letting me walk inside my little home.

He kissed me good night. Peeta Mellark had kissed me twice. Those were the only coherent thoughts I could possibly have as I drifted off to sleep.

And then this morning came.

Have you ever had one of those mornings where you wake up with an automatic pit in your stomach that screams of all the things you'd change if you could? I blink several times, running my hands over my face. The sun shining through my sheer curtain tells me it's still early morning. Mr. Mellark lets us get started late on Fridays during the summer. He silently understands that the majority of those who work for him are young and summer seems to be the time our irresponsibility shows the most.

I turn over in bed and see the clock reads almost seven in the morning. Shoving the covers off, I do everything in my power to think of anything but last night. I grab a change of clothes and head into my bathroom.

While I'm undoing my braid I make the mistake of looking in the mirror: I instantly go back to the moment I'd felt Peeta's callused hand against the sensitive flesh of my neck. He'd pulled me closer and it hadn't taken much coaxing to get my body to fit perfectly against his. I'd never experienced such a heated exchange, but in that moment I was focused only on what I wanted. And what I wanted was Peeta.

I realize I'm smiling while I mindlessly run my fingers through the tangled locks. My hair falls past my shoulders and I bite my lip to suppress my smile. That is my next mistake: I remember the kiss in amazing detail. When my lips had found his the first time it was unsure. I felt him tense for a mere second before he started to respond, but I pulled away. His blue eyes search mine and I know he's looking for an answer I don't have. I remembered the thrill I got when his hand reached for my elbow to stop me from leaving.

My stomach erupted in butterflies, but I didn't have long to realize that before his lips are on mine again. This kiss was sure. This kiss told me everything I've suddenly felt this summer had been mutual. His hands grasped my waist and I couldn't remember a time I'd felt more secure. My hands were against his chest, and looking back I realize I was gripping the material of his t-shirt. Hoping it was real. Needing it to be real.

Again, my smile has returned as I finally turn away from my mirror to turn on my shower. But my smile falters when I realize the moment is over. That the rest of our reality hasn't left. Regret is not what I feel, but anxiety. Anxious because this is all new to me. Anxious because I can't even imagine everyone's reaction – especially Gale's. Anxious because I feel as though I've somehow betrayed him. And I know I'm mostly anxious because I don't want whatever happened last night to end. Not yet anyway.

And that's a feeling I've never had before.

The pit rests in my stomach the entire I'm showering and getting ready. It doesn't leave as I brush my teeth. It remains in place as I re-braid my newly washed hair and get dressed. It doesn't even flinch when Prim calls me and I speak with her for awhile. By the time eight o'clock rolls around, I'm making coffee and deciding that this dreadful feeling is going to be my constant companion for a while. Reverting my thoughts doesn't seem to work because _everything_ reminds me.

I reach for the sugar and I'm reminded of the small fact that Peeta hates sugar in his coffee. A trait I've known for a while, but something that now seems suddenly earth shattering. I reach up to grab an old coffee mug and remember the winter I first started helping at Mellark Ranch. I was doing the dishes in the kitchen after dinner when I, being my ever-graceful self, caused several dishes and glasses to go crashing to the floor. I had been so sick thinking Mrs. Mellark would be the one to find me cleaning up the mess. But Peeta had been the one to race through the kitchen entryway.

We spent the rest of the night sweeping and finding tiny pieces of ceramic and glass throughout the large kitchen. Peeta had made the whole thing that much less stressful. I think I remember even laughing a couple of times. At the time, I thought he was just being nice – like his father undoubtedly taught him. But now I see everything differently. The way he inspected my hands to make sure I wasn't hurt. The way he didn't leave until not only the mess was cleaned up, but also the dishes – that were still intact - were finished and put away.

I've been mindlessly stirring my coffee for several minutes when I hear a knock at the door. I jump, my eyes going toward the offending sound. My stomach knots harder as I walk toward the doorway. I turn the bolt lock. Even though I have a curtain over the window of my door, I can make out the familiar shape and I try to ignore the fact that I'm slightly disappointed.

"Good morning, Rocky." I say, moving out of Gale's way to let him in.

"Very funny." He mumbles, walking in and heading straight toward the coffee pot.

I shut the door and watch him. From where he is standing at my counter I can see the dark bruise that has formed from last night's impromptu boxing match. It doesn't look swollen, but the purple shading looks like it's going to be around for a while.

"What happened to you last night?"

I watch him make his coffee, adding more milk than coffee. He's about like me when it comes to his coffee preference, except my additive is sugar. He doesn't look at him until he's finished. He turns and leans against the counter. Gale makes my kitchen look even smaller than what it is. His massive frame takes up the majority of my counter space and he towers to nearly the top of my cabinets. It's almost comical how he looks like a giant in a dollhouse. Even more so because I know his house is almost exactly like mine.

"I just needed to get away." He shrugs, "I went home. Watched TV and fell asleep on the couch. Sorry if you tried to call, I turned my phone off."

I didn't. Another wash of guilt comes over me.

"It's understandable." I nod, taking a prolonged drink of my cooling coffee.

I'm not sure I want to ask my next question, or that he'll even answer. Gale and I are as thick as they come, but we both burn hot. We know it's better to let us fizzle out before the other approaches. And usually I know how long that'll take, but this is all different. I didn't even know this type of storm was raging. But I just have to know.

"Are you okay?" I ask. The question is simple, but the possible answers make my nerves twitch with anticipation.

"No worse than Mellark." He smirks. Gale knows that's not the answer I'm looking for. I know they're both a little worse for wear, but no permanent physical damage has been done. I give him a look that I know resembles the one my mother used to give when we'd get smart with her.

He knows it too, because he looks down at the floor, lifting his free hand to rub the back of his neck.

"It all needed to be said," Gale says. "But I suppose we could have picked a better venue."

_We_. He must understand, at least a little bit, of where Peeta is coming from.

I remember being a bystander in that instant. That night had been one of the few games I actually attended and only because Gale practically begged me to. They were going for the title and the game was nearly two hours away, but Annie had told me she'd take me. I had no excuse not to go and by the second half I was glad I had.

The game was tied with almost three minutes left. I knew very little about football, but with Annie's constant coaching I was beginning to understand it. And these last few plays were make or break moments for us. I was on the edge of my seat as they broke away from the huddle. It was third down and they needed eight yards to reach another first down. Annie was cheering next to me – the loudest I'd ever seen her. Finnick was calling the play. Gale was crouched low in his position. Peeta was running into place.

The ball was snapped.

Finnick faked a handoff to Marvel while Peeta took off hard down the field. Marvel went down hard, but Gale did his best to hold his man from breaking free and getting to Finnick. Finnick found what he was looking for - a clear shot to Peeta. He threw the ball with stunning accuracy. He was tackled soon after, but was able to see Peeta cross into their end zone.

The defending team's shoulders sunk as they watched the score change. Cato, Marvel, Finnick, the rest of the team, and our crowd were on their feet cheering. Everyone was up. Except for Gale. He lay on the ground curled up around his knee. Several players from both teams were waving over the athletic trainers. They knew he was hurt badly.

That was our junior year. Gale never suited up for another game.

I knew the transition from star football player to sideline assistant had been hard on him, but I never knew just how deep that scar ran. He became less social with those he once surrounded himself with, but I just assumed he was too busy with physical therapy and work to go out as often.

Looking back I saw all the angry signs, but chose to ignore them. I was never one to get into other people's business and whatever issue he had with his team was not mine to have. I was his friend. I was there for him. But I never asked why. I never asked _anything_. And I should have. I had failed him. I let him slip into the same routine as myself. I never once considered that maybe that wasn't what he wanted. That working for the Mellarks was not the dream situation that it had been for me.

"I'm sorry." I apologize, not for last night, but for everything I have ignored. For everything I should have said, but never did.

"Ah, it's nothing." Gale shrugs again. "It's not like my life is some awful nightmare. So what if I didn't get to go play college ball? It's not like I would have been much for college anyway. I hated school. That stuff doesn't come natural to me."

But football does. And I watch him give the speech I know he must have told himself daily after the accident. I'm not sure I believe it. I'm not sure he believes it. But there is nothing either of us can do.

"Why do you blame Peeta?" I ask while I'm still brave enough to do so.

"I blamed everyone on that field that night. I blamed everyone." Gale says. He doesn't look at me, but at the tile of my kitchen. "Peeta was just the one that got _everything_. His whole damn life was handed to him on a silver platter. Doesn't that piss you off a little bit?"

I never thought about it that way. Gale is right; there is no doubt about that. Peeta comes from the wealthiest family in Dawson. He has a full ride to a premier football college. He has good charm and even better physical features. Gale is not the jealous type, but even the saintliest of people would find it hard to stomach the thought of Peeta Mellark. I know that, but I also know the kindness he shows toward others, his willingness to help, his genuine work ethic, and his nightmare of a mother. That alone makes all Peeta has been given dim drastically.

She is Dawson's worst nightmare and all of her children have felt her not-so-secret wrath. Mr. Mellark can only do so much to tame the angry woman he has by his side. And her hateful behavior practically oozes from her whenever she is present. I want to remind Gale of that, but I remain silent. I sit there and just watch him.

"He was nothing more than a target last night." Gale admits, and I know it's hard for him to do so. "Him coming home is just a reminder of what I didn't get to do. Childish, right?"

A little. But I understand it. Gale bottles it all in. He always has because he's always had to. I know I'm the same, but I've never had any one person to blame for my situation. Well, besides the man who worked my father to death, but it's not like I see him on a daily basis. I suppose I could be angry with my mother and I used to be. But I get more reaction out of being angry at a blank wall.

I look at the clock on the wall; it's nearly nine. We'll need to be at the barns by ten. I finish the rest of my coffee and stand up to put the cup in the sink. Gale watches me, as if waiting for me to tell him he's alright. That what he did is justified. But I can't. And it's not just because of Peeta. It has nothing to do with Peeta. It has to do with Gale. He's angry. And his anger will destroy him. I don't want anything to destroy him.

"Is it out of your system?" I ask, reaching behind him to empty out the coffee pot.

He's not expecting this question and takes a minute to respond.

"I guess?" He says.

"Good." I don't look at him as I answer, "Because the next time you get into a senseless fight if they don't completely kick your ass, I will."

He smiles for the first time that morning and I feel myself doing the same. We stand in silence for a while as I clean the few dishes we've dirtied. Every once and awhile I feel his elbow push me slightly or a hand reach up and pull at my braid. He's back. At least for now. And I try not to remember the fact that I'm leaving out a rather important portion of this conversation.

* * *

Saturdays on Mellark Ranch are known for two things: free time and food. Mr. Mellark has made it a point to keep us feeling as though we are appreciated – which I'm not sure any of us doubted to begin with. And that includes Saturdays off, except for the daily chores that need to be finished, and large meals for breakfast and dinner. Of course, you are not required to attend, but I'm not sure any of us have missed unless we've been sick. And even then we'll usually camouflage it the best we can and show up anyway.

Gale picks me up that morning and it's all back to normal between us. We work well together and we spend most of our evenings together. And normally that is enough for me, except now I find my thoughts drifting toward Peeta. I've looked for him on several occasions; going out later than normal to close up the barn or making one last check of the eastern fences. Never once have I found him. It's only been two days, but I feel like it has been an eternity. A fact that I'm not proud of.

I still mention nothing to Gale. He hasn't asked, not that he would know there is anything to ask about, and as the hours tick away I am beginning to think there is nothing to tell him. The thought makes me sadder than I wish it did.

When we pull up to the main house, Beetee and Wiress are walking up the main steps. Wiress waves us good morning while Beetee tips his hat; we both wave and head in their direction. I am both nervous and excited to go inside. Peeta will undoubtedly be there. And this will be the first time I've seen him since he wanted me home Thursday night. Since everything changed. And I hope it hadn't just changed for me.

"Good morning!" Mr. Mellark greets us soon after we walk in, "Head on into the dining room, I think Deb has gotten everything set up."

Deb. Deborah Mellark. Mrs. Mellark. The idea that even her husband has anything other than rude names as a nickname for her is beyond me.

I follow Gale into the large area where many have started to fall in line to get their share of food. The smells make my stomach turn in a pleasant way. The table near the wall is lined with numerous options and it's hard to believe Mrs. Mellark had anything to do with this. For all her personality flaws, the woman can do amazing things in the kitchen.

Gale hands me the tongs so I can put pieces of French toast on my plate and right as I'm about to pick up a slice I am stopped cold. I first see his familiar hands that are holding onto a place of breakfast pastries. My heart begins to race. My eyes slowly scan up his strong arms and then I reach his face. My breath catches. He has that same lopsided smile that I know will be forever imprinted in my mind. And it doesn't go unnoticed to me that his t-shirt and arms are covered in flour.

He did all of this?

Apparently Peeta Mellark isn't as readable as I previously thought.

"Good morning." He speaks softly and a sudden wash of warmth comes over me.

"Good morning." I say, my smile lighting up my face.

Our eyes are locked on one another and every doubt I've felt over the last couple of days seems to disappear as I stand there in his dining room. The world around me seems to fade away and I've forced to notice how he has one obnoxious curl that will not leave his forehead. Or how his bright blue eyes seem darker slightly. Or how I think he's managed to get blueberry preserves on his grey t-shirt and all I wish to do is reach out and wipe it away.

"Hey Peeta, we need more syrup." Jackie's voice breaks into our moment like a sledge hammer. "Do you have some heated up already or would like me to get it?"

Peeta seems to have a hard time tearing his eyes away from me and I know this because I feel the same struggle. I look towards Jackie at the kitchen entryway and I've never wanted to throw a piece of toast so bad at someone.

"I'll be right there, Jackie." Peeta calls, glancing back at me once again. "I'll see you later – I have something I want to ask you."

And with one sentence he has put me back on the pins and needles I've been trying to remove myself from since that night. My nerves are on fire and I know every moment until I see him again will most likely run as slow as molasses in the dead of winter.

The rest of breakfast goes like many others before it, except for Peeta and myself sneaking glances at one another from our places at the long table. He is sitting next to Reese on the other side of the table and a few chairs down while I am wedged between Gale and Wiress. I try to stay involved in the conversations about me, but every once and awhile I look toward Peeta and find him doing the same. We give small smiles, but never hold each other's gaze.

There is a pause in our conversation long enough for me to catch the one Peeta is involved in.

"You coming with me over to Greenville today?" Reese asks his youngest brother.

"I can't." Peeta shakes his head. "I'm picking up Jo from the airport this afternoon. I'm leaving right after breakfast."

"Oh sure, anything to get out of dishes duty." Jackie grins, taking another bite of her pancakes.

"You just make the dishes sparkle so well, how could I deny you of your gift?" Peeta smirks.

Jackie picks up a piece of her biscuit and tosses it toward him. And I'm irrationally jealous of their easy exchange. Peeta laughs, popping the piece into his mouth before picking up a grape and mimicking her action. I'm mesmerized how easygoing he looks in that moment. How his smile is relaxed and childlike. His smile matches that of Reese's. And I now understand where his playful nature comes from.

The moment is ended too quickly when Mrs. Mellark clears her throat, even as Mr. Mellark smiles at the joy on their faces. Nothing is said, but the food war ends and they instead continue their conversation with less enthusiasm.

"I forgot about that." Reese says, still giving a slight glare in his mother's direction. Always the protective older brother. "How long are they staying?"

"Until the end of summer. We're going to ride back to school together." Peeta says.

And before I can hear the rest of their conversation I am pulled back into a debate Gale is having with Wiress. The conversation is comical, but I find myself wishing I was hearing more from Peeta. I am also wondering who this Joe is. He must play on the same team as Peeta.

For the second time that morning I'm irrational jealous of someone.

* * *

My afternoon, like I'd predicted, goes in slow motion. I try to keep myself busy, so that means a visit with Prim. I spend some of the afternoon listening to her go on and on about this friend or that friend. Sometimes she would talk about Rory, and sometimes ask me if Gale had said anything. But I reminded her that they are boys. And boys aren't the ones to share like we do.

She makes me lunch, which is nowhere near as large as breakfast. We have ham sandwiches and some stale potato chips. As she looks through the cabinets I can't help but feel I am not giving them enough of my paycheck to survive on. There are essentials and plenty of canned food, but after the breakfast I had this morning I can't help but feel guilty. Prim assures me that her part-time job at the local grocery story is giving her enough for anything she needs. Plus the bills are all paid on time and she still has money in her pocket.

She is too young to go through this. She is too young to know the due dates of bills. She is too young to have a mother who spends her days in the same old recliner in silence and her nights in her room crying uncontrollably until she falls asleep. I had begged her to move in with me when I moved onto Mellark Ranch. We were used to sharing a room already. And she wouldn't have to face that every day.

But Prim has a kinder heart than I do. Prim doesn't see our mother as a burden. She still sees her as our mother. She still makes her meals for her and combs her hair. She is the daughter I gave up on being years ago.

And I am so proud of her for that. I just hope that one day it won't be her downfall and keep her in this one horse town. She deserves so much more, and I tell her that daily.

The rest of our visit is spent playing Scrabble. I personally loathe the game and cannot make words bigger than 'cat', 'save', or other three to four letter words. Prim completely destroys me, but that's yet another reason I know she'll go far. She's absolutely brilliant.

After I say my good night around six and I can't get back to Mellark Ranch fast enough. I hadn't seen Peeta prior to him slipping out to go pick up his friend at the airport and therefore that question remained unasked. My mind was ablaze with what the question could possibly be. A question? What could he possibly have to question? What are we? Are we anything? Could we be something? Did that kiss mean anything? Was it just an emotional night?

Okay. Maybe there was a lot to be questioned.

And that was why this day had been near torture. But as I checked myself appearance in the mirror, I was beginning to get that familiar excited tingle that always came about when I knew Peeta was in my near future.

I came alone up to the main house and saw I was one of the first ones there. I didn't see any of the other workers' vehicles besides Wiress'. She must have come early to help for dinner. I momentarily think I should wait in my truck until someone else arrives, but that would look strange. I've been in this house a million times. What was so different now?

Everything.

Walking into the main door I see Mrs. Mellark and Wiress standing in the dinner room setting the table. The smell of chili fills the air and my mouth waters. Mr. Mellark's chili is some of the best around and matched with Mrs. Mellark's – or Peeta's? – cornbread this was going to be a fantastic night.

I'm about to head into the dining room to lend a hand when I hear laughter in the kitchen. Mr. Mellark's booming voice can be heard throughout the house along with several others. One I recognize is being attached to my heartstrings. I turn my direction and head in toward the kitchen.

"So let me get this straight," A female I don't recognize says between laughter.  
"You guys literally have a rooster that goes off at dawn?"

"'Goes off?' Come on, Jo." Peeta laughs, "He's not an alarm clock. We don't have to set him. Where did you think that stereotype came from anyway?"

"Well it is a stereotype." Johanna argues, her hands resting on the marble island.

Mr. Mellark and Peeta are both are grinning from ear to ear and shaking their heads. My eyes can't leave the dark haired girl standing in the middle of the kitchen. She's beautiful and rather tough looking. Hard, almost. Like her life hasn't always been the easiest. I know that look. I wear that look.

"Katniss!" Peeta notices me first and I like how his smile grows even wider.

He walks over to me while Mr. Mellark and the girl watch. They both look like they know more than I do, but all of that is forgotten when Peeta walks up next to me, placing a strong hand on the small of my back to lead me toward the conversation. The small touch gives me chills that I hope he doesn't notice and leaves me wanting more.

"Katniss, this is Jo –"

"Short for Johanna." Jo grins, cutting Peeta off. "Johanna Mason from Los Angeles, nice to meet you."

"And she's rather shy, if you couldn't tell." Peeta jokes, looking at me.

Johanna sticks her hand out for me to shake and I do.

"Katniss Everdeen."

"Oh I know who you are." Johanna smirks, dropping my hand and glancing toward Peeta. "Glad to put a face to the infamous name."

My eyebrows crease slightly and I can't help but notice that Peeta has turned a bit red while he moves himself away from the conversation. Mr. Mellark is still grinning widely, like always. Peeta excuses himself quickly to go help finish getting ready for dinner and Johanna's laughter fills the kitchen. Mr. Mellark soon joins her.

Apparently I don't understand California humor.

By the time dinner is being cleaned up I feel as though I've ate my weight in Mr. Mellark's chili and from the looks on everyone's faces so do they. Everyone has started going off in their own direction: some outside to toss a football, some in the entertainment room to watch television, and it doesn't go unnoticed to me that Gale hangs around the table longer talking with Johanna.

Mrs. Mellark has, once again, silently dismissed herself and therefore the kitchen's state is left to those who have not yet found what they wish to do after stuffing themselves like turkeys. Those two individuals would be Peeta and me. The man I once tried to avoid is the one person I want to be the nearest to. So I begin by carrying the emptied dishes into the kitchen while Peeta is putting away the leftovers.

"Guess we drew the short straws." Peeta smiles at me when I sit some bowls down on the counter.

"Guess so." I say, watching him for a minute.

"Or maybe you knew I'd be helping clean up tonight so you decided you'd take one for the team." He's smirking and I like this playful side to him.

"Something like that." I laugh, leaning my side against the counter.

The silence between us is loaded and I want to ask him what it was he was thinking of asking me, but my courage isn't that high yet. Neither of us wants to be the first to look away. Peeta slowly turns his body to mirror mine. My heart starts to pound against my chest.

"Do you remember – well, I said earlier I had to ask you something." He sounds nervous and he looks away from me for a moment.

Do I remember? It's all I've thought about since the sentence left his lips.

I nod, afraid any words that come out of my mouth won't be coherent. He looks at me for what seems like forever and I begin to fidget with the dishtowel I've been holding.

"I think – well, would you like –" He pauses and I think my breath pauses along with him. "Katniss, do you want to go out with me sometime?"

I think I've forgotten how to function. Every piece of me is doing double time and my breath won't seem to even out. It's such a simple question and yet I feel as though it's going to change everything. It _is_ going to change everything. It pales all the other possible questions I had in my mind.

"Yeah, I'd like that." I say slowly, praying my words come out right. "A lot."

Peeta grins, "Then it's a date."

It's a date. I'm going on a date with Peeta Mellark.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Author's Note: **As always, thank you kindly for all the amazing reviews, the favorites, the follows. You guys are amazing, sweet, and encouraging. I love how much you love this story. It truly makes the writer's block, the million re-writes, and second-guessing myself worth it. I wish I could give you updates sooner, but unfortunately my schedule just doesn't allow for much downtime. I hope the length of them makes up for it a little bit? Enjoy this chapter. I believe Katniss and Peeta did! Oh, and we all know Johanna did.

I have to give a major congratulations to **Ivory** for the achievements in her life lately! I wish you all the very best in the future! There couldn't be a more deserving person! And now I must thank _Court_ over at **Court81981** for stepping in to beta this chapter. She did a flawless job with the choppy work she was given. I apologize for the tense, silly grammar, etc. mistakes. You made this chapter rock. She works magic and if you haven't read her stories you are MISSING out. So move your booty over to her profile! Also, she's been helping hone in my ideas of _Lock Up_. More info. about that story can be found on my profile for those interested.

And without further ado, we have a date to get to.

****Please Note:** Chapter Eight wasn't uploading correctly last night, so I took it down & reposted it this morning. I apologize to several of you who re-read chapter seven..I swear it wasn't me! Fanfiction wasn't my friend last night. HOPEFULLY you haven't read this chapter before :)

* * *

**Summary: **There are also three types of people in Dawson, Texas: those who are trying to flee, those who embrace their small town fate, and the Mellarks. Mellark Ranch; largest cattle ranch South of Dallas, employer of ranch hand, Katniss Everdeen, and home of Ohio State Buckeye running back, Peeta Mellark. And Peeta Mellark is coming home today.

* * *

**Lone Star State of Mine  
****Chapter Eight: Beat This Summer**

"I ain't ever going to beat this summer with you."

Going on a date.

It's what we're all here for, if you think about it. All the way back to Adam and Eve. The selection then wasn't nearly as vast as it is now, but maybe that was easier. They couldn't say no. Well, they could have – but that'd be an awfully short story of mankind. Boy meets girl. Girl says no. End of all possible future dates ever. Good story.

Without that initial date, we're all destined to be alone. And I for one always thought that was an okay option. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I have lifelong dreams to become a spinster or the cat lady who lives outside the city limits —I hate cats. But romance never seemed like something that was going to cross my path. In school I spent most of my time with Gale, and any guy who was possibly interested usually assumed I was with Gale. Not that the line of guys was really _that_ long — or existent at all. Sure, there was that awkward stage in middle school where your hormones take over. You become attracted to anyone who looks at you long enough. It's science, not romance.

I did have a date to a school dance once. His name was Lenny Griggs. It was in eighth grade. I was taller than him. He was practically the size of an old outdoor water spigot, had bright red hair and the freckles to match. He bought me a flower, and my mother took pictures of us outside on our porch. I wore this awful black, glitter-covered dress that my sister picked out at our local shopping mall. At the time I thought I was the belle of the ball. Looking back, I was just a perfect match to the disco ball above our middle school heads.

My father drove us to the dance, which started at six. Lenny spent most of the time with his friends off in the corner. I spent most of my night complaining to Gale about how uncomfortable I was. He had brought Madge — well, actually his mother brought both of them. So whenever she was ready to dance, which was all of the slow songs, I was either left alone at a small table with half empty punch glasses or swaying awkwardly with Lenny. By the end of the night Lenny found a ride home with one of his friends, and my father stopped to buy me ice cream.

After that, dating didn't seem like all that it was cracked up to be.

Of course, I listen to Gale's tales of love — or lust. Gale is good looking and played football. He might as well be a young James Dean in this small town. Unfortunately, most of the girls could only talk about how appealing he was in high school since he spent most of that time joined at the hip with Madge. Well, he spent most of his life that way. But high school was when they really became a couple. For nearly four years it was always _them_, they became the constant for Dawson High. And everyone expected they'd get married, because what else is there to do in this town after high school?

But then she ended it.

I still remember that day. It was April of our junior year. A Thursday to be exact. I was outside the main barn when Gale's truck tore down the road. When he got out, I could tell he'd had it out with Madge, but that was pretty typical. They might have had their good times, but the two were like oil and water when it came down to the very nature of their relationship. I wasn't ever going to rain on his parade with that information, but everyone knew it. Even Peeta had tried to tell him on several occasions. It usually ended with Gale storming off, mumbling something about Peeta just being jealous.

No one could talk to Gale when he didn't want to hear the truth.

We started to work, and I said nothing. It was usually better to let Gale clean out the wound on his own. It wasn't until we were halfway finished with our chores that he told me what had happened. Madge wanted bigger things. She wanted to enjoy her last year in this small town with her friends. She didn't want to draw out the inevitable by staying with him. She had plans to leave Dawson. He had plans to plant roots here. The two couldn't work together. Just like that, Madge Undersee was done with Gale Hawthorne.

Two weeks later she was dating Darius Parks. And almost four years, later she's still in Dawson.

If only murder was legal.

Gale moved on. He moved on with Lisa Dorris. And then he continued to move in the direction of Aubrey Green. He even had a short travel partner in Rebbecca Clove. That was obviously not his shining moment. Not only had he did he periodically begin to act like the petite sourpuss, but he also solidified the rivalry between Marvel and Cato with himself, Finnick and Peeta.

Sometimes I think some of those MTV shows have nothing on us, but we'll keep that our little secret. The last thing I need in my awkward reality is a camera shoved in my face wanting to dissect every little thing that happens.

Especially with this new upcoming event.

I've analyzed the possibilities on my own already. Where he could possibly be taking me. Are we planning this date together? Is he paying for everything? Am I even going to be okay with that idea? Do I need to go buy something to wear? Well, I know that answer. Unless he's planning on an evening working on the ranch as our date, I have nothing appropriate.

"Catnip? You home?"

He knows that answer. My truck is sitting outside in my driveway. My boots are right next to the outside door. So unless I've decided to become a free spirit out in the fields, I think it's a safe bet to say Gale knows I'm home. But that's his way of not only announcing he's here, but also his mood. He wants to talk. This isn't a casual, impromptu visit. No, this visit has a purpose, and I'm not sure I'm ready to know that purpose.

I slow my mind down enough to finish braiding my hair and leave my bathroom, flipping off the light as I go. When I round into the hallway, I see him standing there like a large statue. His jaw is tight and he's resting his hands on his hips. I know that stance. I instantly feel smaller and wish I had an escape route. Unfortunately, he's blocking the one escape I have and I'm strong, but Gale is stronger.

"A date with Mellark?" he says hesitantly, and I'm surprised.

I expected a stronger reaction to the news. I expected my door to come off its hinges when Gale finally found out. Of course, I also expected the news would have come from me, but apparently my nerves got the best of me and someone else decided to take it into their own hands. But who? Maybe it was Peeta. I haven't seen him since yesterday; maybe he told Gale last night and he's now going to have a black eye for our date.

I sigh, making my way down the rest of my small hallway. When I get closer to Gale, I figure he'll try to block me in until he gets answers, in true big brother fashion, but he doesn't. He moves just as I try to pass and watches me with curiosity. I fall into my tradition of making morning coffee, feeling his eyes on me the entire time.

"You could have at least started coffee," I mumble, filling up the pot with water. "Being as you have a tendency to show up unannounced and drink all of it anyway."

"Katniss," Gale demands, but still not in the angry sense that I expected.

I stop, setting the coffee pot down a little too hard on the counter and turn to face him. I brace myself on my hands as I lean against the worn surface. He's waiting for an answer, and for the first time I don't feel like I owe him one. This is something new to me. Something I'm trying to figure out. The last thing I need is someone else wanting me to figure it out for them too.

"What do you want me to say, Gale?" I ask. "Yes, I'm going on a date with Peeta. He asked me the other night after dinner and I said yes."

He doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to. Gale doesn't have a poker face. Everything he wants to say is usually painted across his features. The crease in his forehead tells me he doesn't agree, but the way his lips tighten tells me he doesn't want to argue. He doesn't want to argue? That's rare.

"So when is it?" He moves to sit at my small table as I finish making coffee.

"Tomorrow," I say, not looking at him but at the chipped mugs I've pulled for us.

The silence fills the room and unlike most silences between us this one has a bite to it. He's waiting for me to argue. To confess that I believe he's being to hard on Peeta. To tell him that I'm a grown woman; I can make my own decisions. I'm waiting for him to tell me this is a bad idea. That Peeta isn't who I think he is. But nothing is said. And I like it that way because I didn't wake up in the dirt ready to fight. I woke up on Cloud Nine and I want stay there.

"Are — are you excited?" Gale's voice is forced and I can't help but laugh. He's trying.

"Lets not do this." I say, turning with a mug in each hand. I set his down in front of him and take my own seat.

He looks relieved, and I am too. He might be trying to be supportive, but the best he can do is just stay silent on the subject. I'm barely holding it together on my own; I don't need his help in coming undone. He nods and reaches for the sugar dish. And just like a knife sliding into warm butter, we fall into easy conversation about nothing.

We are just about to finish with our coffee when there's a knock at the door. I glance at Gale, who just shrugs, turning to see the silhouette behind the curtains on my door. I get up and in a few short steps I'm turning the doorknob and facing the newest addition to Mellark Ranch.

"Morning, Cowgirl." Johanna smiles.

"Morning," I say, knowing I don't hide much confusion at Peeta's friend being at my door on a Saturday morning. Without Peeta.

Still I open the door the rest of the way and allow her to come in. She doesn't hesitate and steps right in, looking around the place with mild interest. I see her eyes land on Gale and how her once-hardened smile seems to brighten slightly. Gale stands up like the gentleman he's never been with me and I almost want to laugh. Yep, Gale certainly does not have a poker face.

Johanna notices the coffee pot on my counter and sighs, "Oh thank God. Your coffee doesn't look like tea. Mrs. Mellark sure likes her coffee weak."

"Just like her men," Gale mumbles, and I glare at him.

If Johanna hears, she doesn't show it, but continues to make herself at home as she searches my cabinets for a coffee mug and pours herself a cup. She doesn't add anything to the black liquid but moans like she's just eaten a decadent piece of chocolate when it passes her lips.

"I think I'll be coming to your place from here on out for a decent cup of coffee." Johanna nods, obvious to how her noises have affected my best friend and the way he clears his throat to keep from choking. "Hell, I might come here to stay."

Funny, I don't remember offering.

"Peeta is a saint for staying in the same house with that woman," Johanna laughs dryly. "They all are. I mean, I knew she wasn't a joy — Peeta told me that much — but he described her nicely."

Neither Gale nor I know what to say. We are both still slightly shocked by the tornado that is Johanna Mason. Gale seems to love the new winds, but I'm still unsure. Johanna starts to walk around my open living room and kitchen combination. I'm not sure what she's looking at. I don't decorate. I hardly even have furniture. She holds her cup of coffee in one hand and picks up a nearby frame in the other.

"Sister?" she asks, turning to show the picture to us.

I nod. "Prim."

"Prim. Katniss. Peeta." Johanna smiles, setting the picture down. "I thought California had some eccentric parents. They have nothing on Texas."

Normally I would have thought that to be an insult, but the way she said it was more of a fact instead of a dig. A fact that I couldn't really disagree with.

"Gale, what are you doing the rest of the day?" Johanna turns her attention toward him, and his eyes go wide.

"Um — uh, well I have to help heard some cattle west and then I'll be going to the softball games tonight."

"Softball games? Are those the ones that turn into boxing matches from time to time?" she smirks, obviously having observed the healing cut above Peeta's eye.

"Those are the ones." He laughs.

"Well I hope you have fun today." Johanna looks from him to me. "And that you won't miss Katniss too much, because we're going shopping."

If Gale had still been drinking his coffee, it would have sprayed all over the room. The shock in his expression mirrored mine, but Johanna didn't seem to take notice as she finished her own cup of coffee and placed it in my sink.

"Do you want me to wash these before we go?" she asked. "I don't mind."

And just like that, Johanna Mason wedged her way into our existence like a bull in a china shop.

* * *

Dawson doesn't have a mall. Dawson doesn't even have a dollar store. We are home grown to the core. A chain anything would most likely burned down before it had its grand opening. I figured hearing this news would derail Johanna's terrible plan to take me shopping. I even said the news with fake frustration in hopes she wouldn't notice my sheer glee.

I know people that like Johanna Mason. I spend the majority of my time avoiding people them. Not because I have something against them or because I think they're malicious in anyway, but because they're determined, pigheaded, and headstrong. Just like me. Except she has one thing I don't have: the confidence to take on just about anything. There is something about her I respect, but I don't trust her. She's closed off. She's too carefree. It's as if she's hiding everything to keep herself together. She's a better actor than I am. My scars show in the permanent scowl on my face and proverbial chip on my shoulder.

Even through my continual nagging, Johanna doesn't gather her things to leave until she has finished my small pile of dishes. Gale has long since left, wishing us a good time on his way out; his infatuation showing the entire time. I curse under my breath and wave as he heads out the door. Johanna waves too, but she's too busy drying the dishes to pay too much attention to his departing figure.

Not having a mall within ten-mile radius doesn't shake her plan like I had hoped. No, Johanna is too bullheaded for that. She simply stops off at the main house, dragging me inside along with her, to ask Mrs. Mellark where we can find the nearest shopping facility. Fortunately we don't run into Mrs. Mellark, but Jackie will do and Johanna makes quick work of asking her where the nearest shopping center is. She doesn't notice Jackie's confused glance toward me. It's no secret that I don't shop unless it's at the local farm store for new boots or Prim is biting at my ankles.

Johanna thanks Jackie, while I silently plot her demise, and we're back out the door. I don't mention to Johanna that I already knew the way to said shopping center. I was trying to prolong this adventure for as long as possible and when I see Peeta walking back toward the main house, I'm glad I did.

I try to linger, but Johanna is having none of it. She's at the passenger side door before Peeta is within hearing distance. She notices him and then looks back at me with a grin.

"Come on, you can see Lover Boy later. We've got some damage to do," she calls, waving to Peeta.

I hate California.

* * *

"Here, lets go in here." Johanna says, pointing toward a store that looks more like a surf shop than a clothing store.

She reaches for my arm; apparently I'm not turning into the place with enough vigor. She pulls me along with her. As we enter, several clerks greet us with overzealous smiles and a rehearsed speech about all the sales they had going on. If I wasn't feeling overwhelmed before, I am by the time the young girl rambles off 'half price on this,' 'buy two of those and get that free,' or 'spin around in circles ten times and receive twenty percent off.'

"Where are your swimsuits?" Johanna asks, popping the gum she's been chewing. "My friend here has absolutely nothing in the way of swimwear."

How does she know that? She doesn't know that. She hasn't been through my drawers. For all she knows, I could have plenty of "swimwear". And wait —

"All swimwear is on the back wall," the sales girl smiles. "Let me know if you need anything."

"Why do I need a swimsuit?" I demand as soon as we walk away from the girl.

Johanna either doesn't hear me or doesn't feel my question is relevant enough to answer, but I'm not giving up that easily.

"Johanna, _why_ do I need a swimsuit? Where is Peeta taking me?" I try not to sound panicked, but it's not easy.

Some girls might live for the summer when they can run around in short shorts, swimsuits, and dresses. But I'm not most girls. I don't own a swimsuit for a reason. I don't swim. It's not that I can't. I just don't. Swimming means swimsuits. Swimsuits mean showing off more skin than I'm comfortable with. My body isn't awful; I suppose I have the hard labor of the ranch to thank for that, but I don't have the beautiful curves of the girls I see hanging above me modeling the swimsuits this store wants me to buy.

"Please, Johanna is the name my mother uses when I'm in trouble. Jo will do," she says, browsing the different styles and colors. "And I don't know. He just told me to make sure you have a swimsuit."

"Look, I am not wearing a swimsuit." I don't hide my panic now. "I just — I can't."

Johanna laughs, like she's suppressing a sarcastic comment until she looks over at me. I know my expression said it all and I hate that. I spend most of my life hiding my emotions, but with everything that's been happening recently, it's becoming harder and harder to do so. Apparently a swimsuit is my breaking point. And Johanna sees it.

She steps closer, watching me for a moment. I think she's afraid I'm going to cry, but this is far from a crying moment. And if she's as much like me as I assume she's probably thankful for that. Tears have never been my specialty and I can guess they aren't hers either.

"Peeta likes you," Johanna says in a low voice, looking around the rest of the store like she's expecting someone to be listening. "I mean _really_ likes you. I've heard about you since our freshman year. And he'd kill me for telling you that so keep it between me and you."

When she looks back at me it's like she's just told me something top secret. Like she's breaking some unspoken law even mentioning such stories. I can't help but smile slightly, but my nerves are still a wreck and her words haven't soothed them yet.

"He wouldn't waste your first date on a plan that didn't mean something." Johanna crosses her arms over her chest, "So when he asks me to make sure you have a swimsuit I'm going to. We can ask them if they have a turtleneck one of you want, but you're leaving here with a swimsuit."

Only Johanna could make a reassuring speech and end it with a minor threat. I haven't known her long, but I respect her for that. And my respect for her only grows when I see just a glimpse of the fierce loyalty she must have for Peeta. We have something in common.

"Fine. But I demand a cover-up." I surrender.

"Deal. I'll ask if they have a parka in the back."

* * *

I thought my nerves were a mess in the mall until the day actually comes when I have to put it on. I am standing in my bedroom, staring at the offending objects laid across my bed. I continue to chew on my already ragged nails as I reconsider the entire thing. This is a big mistake. A swimsuit? On my first date with Peeta?

"It's like a Band-Aid." I jump nearly to the ceiling when I hear Johanna's voice in my doorway. She was obviously trying to be quiet or I was that lost in thought. I figure it's the later.

"What?" I ask, frustrated.

"It's like a Band-Aid." Johanna repeats, walking over and picking up the top of the swimsuit. "A gorgeous, overpriced Band-Aid. Just put it on. I guarantee you'll love it. You looked great in the store — and their lighting was terrible."

She's humoring me. She has to be. I know what I looked like in the store. Sure, it wasn't as terrible as I expected. But I'm certainly not 'going on a date with Peeta Mellark' material. I've seen some of the girls he's dated. They were gorgeous and striking. And that was just in high school. Lord knows they've probably gotten better since he's a star football player. I am Plain Jane on my good days.

Before I can argue, Johanna is shoving the newly bought clothes into my hands and heading out my door. She closes it behind her and I know what she's expecting. I glance down at the material and groan.

"Just like a Band-Aid, my ass."

* * *

The knock on the door only helps quicken my heartbeat as I pace my kitchen. He's here. This is happening. I have spent the last hour being talked off the ledge by Johanna. She has tried to get me to wear makeup, but I refuse. That is a battle I won't lose. And my hair is in its normal braid, but somehow it looks like it belongs with my summer-like attire. The cover-up Johanna had picked actually turns out to be rather simple. Thank God. The navy blue strapless dress is loose and, although I'll never admit it, rather comfortable.

But I still felt like a fool.

And then I open the door and all my nerves seem to calm. He looks so relaxed and casual. He looks so safe. He gives me that lopsided smile that is somehow connected to my knees and I forget everything I'd once been worried about. His blonde curls and tanned features make him look like one of those models pictured in the store. And the old t-shirt and swimming trunks doesn't hurt matters.

He looks perfect.

"Hi." He smiles.

"Hi."

Then we stand there — not awkwardly, just in awe of the moment. And I tell myself for the hundredth time that day that this is actually happening. I'm going on a date with Peeta Mellark. And my nervousness turns to excitement. I don't realize how much I want this until it's actually within my grasp.

"Ready?" he asks, turning to walk away from my door.

I follow, closing the door behind me. I almost ask if I'll need anything, but I see the bag he's carrying. He's obviously thought of everything and I'm just along for the ride. I look around for his truck, but it's not in my driveway. In fact, he's walking like he's going to turn behind my house.

"Where are we going?" I ask, trying to sound more excited than confused.

He looks over at me and laughs. "You'll see."

So instead, I stop questioning and start walking along with him. He asks me how my day has been, and I ask him the same. We both seem to make those answers short and sweet. It gives me a sense of ease knowing he must be as nervous as I am. We fall into casual conversation, mostly about the past or different people who work on the ranch. I realize Peeta notices more than I previously thought. And I also realize I open up much easier with him than I do most others, even Gale. That fact scares and assures me at the same time.

Before I know it we're walking through a wooded part of the Mellark property and I notice how far away from home we really are. I've never really been out here before. I've taken a four-wheeler out here before to double check some fencing, but I hardly paid attention to anything else.

Peeta knows where we're going though, and he takes the opportunity to link my hand with his as we walk on a well-beaten path. Some people have obviously come before us. And my stomach sinks. Has Peeta brought other girls here before? Should that bother me? I mean, if he'd taken me to dinner, he probably been to that restaurant with another girl before. But this is different. This seems somewhat personal.

"How do you know about this place?" I ask.

"How do I know about the property my family owns?" He smirks, making a lighthearted joke, but I blush all the same. "I used to come out here a lot."

"With other girls?" The question escapes before I can stop it, and I instantly regret it.

He looks over at me with a serious expression. "Never with other girls."

The butterflies swarm when I feel his hand tighten around mine and pull me through the last of the trees where the wooded area gives away to a small pond. My eyes search the area; how does no one know this place exists? Well, apparently some do because there is a rope tied to a branch that hangs over the water and several old, beach chairs sitting on the dirt-like bank. They have taken the time to plan out every little corner of this handmade paradise. The small rocks poured to keep the weeds from overtaking the bank. The circular fire pit off to the side to make sure the party can go on around the clock. This was an island in the middle of Texas. It is definitely the closest to an island I've ever been.

"Me, Gale, and Finnick did all this." Peeta looks over at me, like he knows what my next question is going to be. "We spent almost every day of summer out here when we weren't working. Even in the fall we'd come out here from time to time. Finnick always bought us beer."

Of course he did.

"I guess I shouldn't we say I did all of this." Peeta shrugged, walking closer to the water and looking up at the rope hanging from the tree. "Reese and Clement did that. They were the ones to show it to us. Making us swear we'd never bring anyone else out here."

"But you brought me," I say.

"I'm sure Finn has brought Annie out here a couple times too." He smiles.

And the excitement all but boils over on me. He sees me how Finnick sees Annie? I'm not the type of girl to believe in fairytales, but if I've ever seen a good, true fairytale, it's been in Annie and Finnick's relationship.

But I don't have much time to think of the meaning behind his comment because he sets down the bag he brought with us and begins to take off his shirt. I always thought I'd look away out of shyness if this ever happened, but I can't take my eyes off of him. He embodies the part of star football player. Again, I get a glimpse of the black and white tattoo inside his right bicep. It's a college emblem, but it's not for Ohio. His arm goes down too fast for me to notice all the details, but it's piqued interest. And it's all forgotten when my eyes meet his again. He tosses his shirt to the side and just smiles like he has no idea the effect he has.

"Swim?"

I take a couple steps forward and feel slightly empowered. It's just like a Band-Aid, right? Before I lose my courage, I grab the fabric of my dress and start to pull it up, keeping my eyes on his. He looks mesmerized and it urges me on. I pull the piece over my head completely and toss it down to join his shirt. I'm nervous, and my hands come together in front of my exposed stomach. I glance down at the pale orange bikini Johanna somehow convinced me was a good idea. I cringe at the obvious tan lines around my shoulders from my everyday tank tops.

But when I look up I don't think I've ever felt more confident. The look Peeta is giving me is one that shows just how attracted he is to me, and I now understand why girls always insist on wearing so little around boys. Of course, in front of anyone else I wouldn't be wearing this, but the way Peeta stares at me makes it worth it.

"Johanna worked her magic," I supply.

Peeta shakes his head and walks toward me, "You're beautiful."

When he reaches for my hand, I let him take it and we start toward the water. It seems a bit like a dream and I know a month ago if someone had told me that this was their first date, I would have gagged at the cheesiness of it all. And I know if I told others they would feel the same way, but I couldn't imagine a better first date. It's perfect in its cheesiness.

The water is cool and even in the damp, heat of the summer I feel goose bumps rising on my skin. The earth sinks beneath my feet and I almost like the sensation. Peeta drops my hand as we're nearly waist deep. He pushes himself and I watch him sink beneath the surface. My fingertips skim across the top, ripples dancing around me. And soon I'm pushing off the soft bottom of the pond, letting myself dip below the surface. When I reemerge, Peeta is wiping the water from his eyes and then running his fingers through his soaked locks. We're both nearing the middle of the pond.

As we're swimming I notice we seem to be keeping our distance. We're close, but not close enough to touch. We talk about our childhoods. I steer clear of my father's sudden death and Peeta avoids any imaging of his mother. Soon we're asking each other questions. Some are goofy 'what-if' scenarios, but others cut into our being.

"Favorite color?" I ask, treading water easily as Peeta swims calm circles around me.

"The color you're wearing."

"Nice line," I laugh. "Think of that all on your own?"

He laughs, splashing at me lightly. "I'm serious though. It reminds me of sunsets. My dad always used to take Reese, Clement, and me out to the west side of the pastures for the sunsets. He said it reminded him to breathe, to take a moment and just be."

Peeta's love for his dad is touching and saddening. It makes me long for that relationship, but I know Peeta deserves it more. He's had to live with such an awful mother. If he were to lose his father, it'd be more than just a vacancy. It would open the floodgates. No one would be there to play defense between Mrs. Mellark and her sons.

"Your turn." I smile, wiping my face.

"Did you ever date Gale?" He asks, watching my reaction.

I laugh. "Don't you think you'd know if I did?"

He shrugs, smirking with slight relief. "Well, I have been gone at school during the winter."

"Doesn't matter the season, Gale and I wouldn't work." I start to swim closer to him, feeling the need to reach out to him.

"And I'm completely okay with that." He grins.

"Have you dated in college?" I ask.

"That's how I met Jo," Peeta says casually.

But my stomach knots. So Johanna is an ex-girlfriend? This whole time I've been prepped by a girl that once had Peeta's full attention. Does he still have feelings for her now? Is that why she's out here? To try to rekindle something?

"I dated her roommate for about two months," Peeta continued, not noticing my inner turmoil. "Nothing serious. And at least I got Jo's friendship out of it."

I'm relieved and the weight that comes off of me is enough to nearly make me fly.

Soon I feel his arm with my outstretched hand. I grip his bicep and pull myself to him. It still amazes me how brave I am with him and when I feel his hand grasp my bare hip I can't help but gasp. We're both still slightly treading water, but we've neared the bank and I can feel the soft earth below my toes. Soon we're able to stand, both submerged up to our chests, but he doesn't let go of me. He holds me to him.

"Your turn," I say, my eyes more focused on his lips than his beautiful blue eyes.

"You want to kiss me?" He asks.

"No," I smirk, loving the surprise in his eyes. "I want you to kiss me."

And he does. Our lips connect timidly, at first and my arms wrap completely around his neck. When I feel him flush against me, I nearly gasp at the bare contact. It's something I've been craving without even knowing it. His hands grasp my hips possessively, but with a level of caution that I am slightly thankful for. I want Peeta. There is no doubt in it, but this is all so new to me that I couldn't handle going any faster.

Soon this timid kiss isn't enough, and I feel his tongue seeking entrance. I allow it and soon our tongues meet — this alone is enough to make my insides stir with pure heat. My fingers tangle themselves in his wet curls, and I press every available inch of myself against him. His arms are my refuge, and I never want to leave.

But soon he pauses the kiss to lead me up onto the shore where he's brought us a several blankets and towels. I would have been happy to continue where we left off in the water, but he's brought us dinner. We eat and laugh about different things. I get icing from a cookie on my nose that he's more than happy to reach over and kiss off. I return the favor by smearing some on his cheek and licking it off.

It all comes natural and I'm surprised. I never thought any type of intimacy would come natural to me.

Soon we're laying back on the blankets, the sky twilight to night. For a while we're silent as we listen to the nature around us. His hand is laced with mine and the conversation finally comes. It's easy. And it's needed. And it's everything I thought it would be like. And I don't dare believe its love. It's too soon to be love.

But I do know that it feels like no matter the directions our lives could have taken we would have ended up here. To this place. To this feeling.

To each other.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Author's Note: **I just need to state how amazing you all are. The love for this story is overwhelming & truly inspires. Thank you so much! I'll keep this short, but I do want to warn all of those who aren't too found of Gale/Johanna..you're not going to be very happy with that aspect of the story. My apologies, but at least you know. I also want to note that this chapter jumps about a month.

Thank you, thank you, thank you to my wonderful and so very speedy beta, Court81981. Your ideas and beta abilities are out of this world. Thank you for making this chapter all that it could be!

Now, without further ado: Enjoy!

* * *

**Summary: **There are also three types of people in Dawson, Texas: those who are trying to flee, those who embrace their small town fate, and the Mellarks. Mellark Ranch; largest cattle ranch South of Dallas, employer of ranch hand, Katniss Everdeen, and home of Ohio State Buckeye running back, Peeta Mellark. And Peeta Mellark is coming home today.

* * *

**Lone Star State of Mine**  
**Chapter Nine:** **Hey Pretty Girl**

_"Gonna make you mine, there's a real good chance."_

Summertime.

It's a cliché, sure. But it's one thing people always looking forward to. Whether you live in California or Montana, there is just a certain air to summertime that no other season can compare to. From the time you're born it's engrained into your existence the greatness that is summertime.

When you're in school, you count down the days until your freedom finally calls with that last bell. You never have any sort of big plans for the three months you've been longing for, but that's the point. There is no longer an agenda that someone else dictates for you. You can do whatever you want — and there is nothing stopping you. Well, except maybe your parents. But as you get older you learn to sideswipe their rules like a rogue pitch.

You want to stay out late breaking the rules? Well, you're staying at a friend's house. You want to skip town for a weekend away? Well, you're joining a local volunteer organization to help gain you something colleges are looking for. The ideas are endless. And the crazier you get the better the stories get.

Of course, my knowledge on the subject is simply hearsay, but in a small town like Dawson, hearsay is practically scientific fact.

Summertime is what we're all looking forward to, even when we get older. Sure, we work year round and the three month stint of "freedom" is over, but summer is still summer. The days are longer and the nights are that much more jam-packed with happenings. And the best part? You are now old enough to not to need an excuse to feed your parents.

And like winter has Christmas or fall has Thanksgiving, summer has the Fourth of July.

A southern small town will make a festivity out of any tradition during the summer, but Fourth of July holds merit all its own. Not only are we showing much gratitude for those who have served to keep this fair country safe, but we're also putting all the bullshit aside and standing together to say that we actually are thankful for this nation. Everyone can celebrate something like that.

And Dawson is certainly no exception. There have been cookouts and fireworks lighting up the Fourth of July in this town since the very beginning. At one point the high school was in charge of the celebrations and then the town hall took over. The festivities would start early that morning with church ladies showing off their baking muscles, followed by different games for the children, and then when the sun finally went down, everyone would look toward the sky for the main event. But like the population, the funds started to dwindle and the festival was soon to be a thing of the past.

Of course, in true small town 'caped crusader' fashion, Mr. Mellark picked up the cause and ran with it. The Independence Day festivities have been on Mellark Ranch since before Prim was born. At first, most of those in attendance were employees, but then word got out that Mr. Mellark wasn't about to deny anyone their patriotic pleasure of a day off amongst friendly faces. Ever since, the town has started showing up nearly in time for breakfast on that blissful holiday.

With hosting the town's largest summer event comes the preparation, and that's something the entire ranch has come to be a part of nearly two weeks before it takes place. It's normally something I'm looking forward to — not that I don't enjoy my usual tasks — but a little change never hurt anyone. Even me. I like setting up the large barbeque pit with Mr. Mellark. I enjoy the peaceful task of clearing part of the pasture with Gale. I even find entertainment in cleaning up the main barn with Jackie. But this year I hardly even notice June turn into July.

I blame this on the youngest Mellark.

Distraction doesn't even begin to describe how much he's invaded my thoughts or my time. I didn't even know it was possible to be this distracted by one human being. Better yet, I didn't know it was possible to _want_ to be this distracted by one human being.

In the morning, I always start off with the best of intentions. I am going to eat a quick breakfast, not think about Peeta, meet up with Gale to start work, not think about Peeta, spend the day doing our assigned task, and not think about Peeta. But somewhere between breakfast and meeting up with Gale, my mind slips back to that curly haired blond.

My memory slips back to the time he snuck up behind me in the barn, wrapped his arms around my waist, placed a light kiss at the nape of my neck, and without a word was gone. The fire that ignited inside me kept me distracted the rest of the afternoon.

Or the evening we spent in the bed of his truck talking and simply staring up at the sky like the kind of cheesy romance novels I used to scowl at.

But my troubles truly start when I catch him out in the horse stalls. My original plan is to simply wish him a good morning and maybe a kiss or two, but that all goes awry when I see him.

He looks beyond decadent in his simple t-shirt and jeans. His hair is going every which way due to his lack of caring once he rolled out of bed. But I am completely lost when I see his eyes. How blue they look against his freshly tanned cheeks. His smile welcomes me as he continues to work on several horseshoes. The welcome is heartfelt and quiet and I return it as I slowly walk toward him.

I've become bold in our few weeks together, but I am not sure if it's an intention to be bold or a simple need for him. In my quiet moments I am almost afraid of how much I seem to need him, but then he comes around and I'm not sure how I lived so long without this feeling. And this morning is no different.

"Good morning," I greet him casually, a smirk playing at my lips. My hand comes against his clothed side as I walk up behind him. I've come to crave this closeness in a way I never thought I would.

"Good morning," he counters, setting down the horseshoe he was working on and letting his hand come atop the one I have against his side.

The silence is loaded and it thrills me. I feel my temperature rising and my skin tingles where he's touching me. For the flash of a second I wonder what those calloused hands would feel like against _all_ of my skin. I am thankful my face is out of his full view since the blush I cannot contain covers my features. The thought is one I have entertained before, but I've never dared to cross that territory in his presence. Until now.

"How was your two hours of sleep last night?" he asks and I can hear the grin on his face as my cheek presses against his shoulder blade.

He knows I'm exhausted. And so is he. We spent most of the night up in the hayloft, intentionally forgetting we both were expected to be working first thing the next morning. Time was easy to forget when I was with him. The rational side of me screamed at the problems that could cause, but my reckless side was winning over. My reckless side saw nothing wrong in spending every second with him.

"Refreshing." I joked, and his laugh vibrating through his chest.

"Liar."

He easily changes our position so I'm standing in front of him and my heart rate increases as I finally get a close look at his face — the face I could spend hours watching. Every expression, every glance, every nervous habit. I could memorize each one. I lace our fingers together in one hand as I feel his free hand landing at the curve of my waist.

If any more words were going to be shared between us they were long forgotten when I feel Peeta's lips against mine. The kiss is languid at first, neither of us having plans for it to go further. Then I feel the fingertips of his free hand graze underneath the hem of my shirt. And something is lit inside of me. My arms wrap around his neck, and he grips my hips with both hands.

I can't get close enough to him and the feeling must be mutual because he's lifting me to sit atop the workbench and stepping between my legs. My heart is in my throat, but my lack of nerves is surprising. His hands are beneath my shirt, against the small of my back while mine are clenching in his already disheveled curls at the nape of his neck. I let his tongue slip between my lips to tangle with mine. He still tastes like the toothpaste he's used this morning.

It is in that moment I realize how much I want him. Not just now, like how we are. But I want more of him. And I am not even sure what all "more" is. I'm not an idiot; I know what sex is. I had to take the embarrassing week of health class just like everyone else and Gale has never been shy about the subject, but the steps that supposedly lead to the 'main event' are a complete mystery.

I'm not sure if the 'ready' that everyone talks about is something I will instantly feel or if it's something that will slowly build in me. But the need that's rising in me is so palpable that I feel like I could reach out and grab it.

And then fear creeps in and I'm terrified that this is all coming too fast. We've been together for a little over a month, and I'm not sure what Peeta is expecting. Does he plan for it to go that far? Of course, he's a male and I have to believe that on some level he probably does. But he hasn't pressured me. There are times like these when I can feel how much I excite him and as much as that frightens me, it also thrills me. And he never comments on it. He takes the lead, but it seems only enough to give me courage. The rest is my decision. It's the silent kind of promise he's made to me. I'm grateful.

But my thoughts have gotten the best of me and I break the kiss before my body wants me to. My eyes remain closed as I rest my forehead against his. Our ragged breath mingles together and my nerves are still zapping beneath my skin. I feel Peeta pull away enough to kiss me lightly in the cheek before I open my eyes to look into his, and they are darker than I've ever seen them.

He laughs. "Feel free to greet me that way always."

My inner turmoil subsides as I smile, lightly shoving at his shoulder. I roll my eyes, but I like the idea. I just wish my mind wouldn't have gotten the best of me in that moment. Or maybe it was a good thing — we are in an open area after all.

I lean forward, pressing another kiss to his lips before jumping down from the workbench. I remain stationary in front of him, suddenly not wanting to be any further from him. But that's irrational. There is still work to be done — even for those in love.

He smiles, stepping away first to get back to work and I wish him a good day before I start to leave the horse stalls. It's not until I'm at the doorway that my stomach turns and I stop dead in my tracks. I turn back to look at him, my heart pounding. He looks back up at me with a confused smile.

"Did you say something?" he asks.

I shake my head, afraid words won't come out even if I will them to. I give a quick wave and leave the stalls.

I've fallen in love with Peeta Mellark.

* * *

"This is your first time at this, isn't it?" Johanna asks, taking a bit from the piece of celery in her hand and looks over at me.

My plan wasn't to spend my day with the nosiest girl this side of the Mason Dixon Line, but as fates would have it, she's actually a pretty decent worker and I needed her help moving all the different picnic tables for the events happening the next day. Now we sit atop one of said picnic tables to have a quick bite to eat before getting back to work.

I look over at her, not even remotely sure what she's talking about, and the confusion must be painted on my face because she laughs. She pops the rest of her celery stick into her mouth, reaching over for a bottle of water. I'm still waiting, and she's still not explaining. She takes her time getting a drink before looking back over at me.

"Well, I've been in love before," Johanna begins, "I mean, I thought I was in love. I was in high school. And the guy was a total tool. Of course, at the time I thought he was some kind of god among men."

If she notices my shock, she doesn't say anything or even react. What is she talking about? Love? I had just barely realized it myself. How the hell was she figuring it out? I am not even sure I am in love. My experience with love is next to none. I loved my father desperately. I love Prim unconditionally. And I think I love Gale like one would love a brother, but romantic love? My knowledge on the subject is nonexistent.

And that's beside the point. The real question is why am I having this conversation with Johanna?

"Took my virginity and took off like a thief in the night." Johanna continues, still unaware of my internal screaming. "And then there was the guy from freshman year. That was the reckless kind of love, I guess. Neither of us was any good for one another, but maybe that's what made us so entertaining to each other. The sex was great, though."

I'm having this conversation. We are actually having this conversation. I think having the "Birds and Bees" conversation with my mother was less mortifying.

"Anyway, I'll spare you the toe-curling details." Johanna finally looks over at me, "My point is, Peeta's the real deal. You know?"

Honestly? It's not Peeta I'm concerned about. I've known Peeta long enough to see his true colors: the loyalty he has for those he cares for; the selflessness he shows on a daily basis; the silent strength he hides from his mother's behavior behind. He'll be the "real deal" to whomever he's with because it's in his nature.

It's me that becomes the real problem. I'm not a terrible person, but I don't think I'm easy to deal with either. I am naturally suspicious. I have a tendency to run from all problems. I've always done things on my own. I'm not sure being with someone else is what I'm meant for.

But that doesn't stop me from wanting it. Wanting it with Peeta.

"And he's crazy about you." Johanna smirks. "But you probably already knew that. Don't think I haven't noticed that he's hardly ever in his room before early morning. I sleep across the hall. And Peeta is a lot of things, but quiet is _not_ one of them."

My blush is probably covered from the warmth that's already spread across my cheeks due to the sun, but that doesn't stop me from feeling it. I also feel a small sense of pride. I like that I'm the reason Peeta is sneaking back inside at night. And I like that Johanna knows about it. Finally my laugh escapes me and mingles with Johanna's.

Slowly she becomes serious again and looks over at me, "You're like me."

No, I'm not like Johanna Mason.

"You have your guard up always. Like everyone is the enemy. I've seen it. Even with Gale, you're ready for things to fall apart," She says, her eyes never leaving mine. "And I get that. After I lost my parents I became the same way. I put my guard up assuming no one would want to waste their time breaking through it. But sometimes they do."

I'm grateful for her silence because I know she is right and I don't need the reminder. I don't need to be reminded of how the day my father died, I became an entirely different person. I became someone who sees the world as a battlefield. And up until the beginning of this summer, I never saw a real problem with that.

Johanna is the first to start packing our lunch away. She tosses the empty sandwich bags and snack bags in the lunch box, pulling out another bottle of water before she closes the cooler. Normally I would be helping even in this small task, but I'm still deep in thought when she hands me the lunch box to put back in the truck.

"All I'm saying," she continues as though we haven't been in silence for the last five minutes. "is when someone is willing to stick around and break down those walls, maybe you should let them."

* * *

Prim can't get out of the truck fast enough when we pull up to Mellark Ranch. She's been talking about this night nearly nonstop since last week. Of course, most people have been talking about this night nearly nonstop since Christmas. She doesn't say anything, but I know it has something to do with Rory. I'd warn her to be careful, but at this point I don't believe I'm one to be giving that lecture.

I watch as she runs off toward her group of friends already that is gathered at a nearby picnic table before I scan the rest of the event. The cars lining the driveway don't even begin to explain the amount of people on the property. Most are mingling around the picnic tables eating dinner. There are already some that have taken advantage of the music playing in the barn. I remember that has always been a teen favorite since it gave you the excuse to get close to that one person you couldn't get enough of.

My eyes still haven't landed on Peeta when I see Gale walking my way with an extra cup in hand. I smile, accepting his offering. Mrs. Mellark may be a real sourpuss, but her lemonade is some of the best in Texas and she makes it by the gallons for tonight.

"Stranger," Gale greets me and I give him a warning glare.

We haven't really talked much about Peeta and me, but I take that as a good sign. Gale isn't one to sit back silently when he thinks things aren't right. It only helps confirm my theory that things between him and Peeta may eventually work out, but neither of them is admitting to that.

"Rory here?" I ask, leaning against the side of my truck.

"Is Prim?" Gale counters.

We both laugh, falling into a comfortable silence. The sun hasn't yet fallen too close to the horizon, but the hints of a sunset of beginning to appear on the west side of the ranch. Sunsets on Mellark Ranch were always my favorite. The wide-open space of the pastures allowed for the eye to see the colors bleeding out in their entirety. Most nights they were also the most peaceful time, but not tonight. Tonight sunset was abuzz with the anticipation of what was to follow.

When I pull my eyes away from the starting sunset I notice Gale is looking across the yard. My eyes follow his line, expecting to see a blur of blonde hair and gossip, but I'm surprised. The object of his attention is certainly not a blonde and she may be nosy, but gossip is not her forte. Johanna is too busy helping Jackie refill the lemonade pitchers to notice that she now had an audience.

"Apparently I've missed more than I thought," I comment, glancing back over at Gale.

"What?" Gale asks, feigning innocence.

"Do I need to go get Prim? I'm sure she'd love to sing 'Gale and Johanna sittin' in a tree' to you."

Gale rolls his eyes, taking another drink from his cup. What he's not saying is written all over his face and it's happy. And really, that's all I need to know. I've heard several rumors from the ranch hands that Gale had been taking Johanna out and around Dawson on some nights. Even Peeta had mentioned Johanna spending some nights with Gale, but Gale was never one to indulge me in the details anymore. Maybe it was a sign of him maturing, because high school was a completely different story. I usually had to bleach my brain daily to get rid of the vivid details he'd offer.

"Dancing should officially be starting soon," I comment, casually filling the silence.

"We better get in there."

It's official; he's really is falling for her, because Gale Hawthorne does not dance.

* * *

Music plays throughout the entire evening, but once mostly everyone finishes dinner, they need to fill the time before fireworks with something. Some may stay at the picnic tables and talk, others may roam the property; the young kids usually wear themselves out by running around, and most are in the barn dancing to whatever music comes over the speakers.

By the time Gale and I enter the barn, the makeshift dance floor is crowded and many others are lining the walls, sitting on hay bales or leaning against the old wood structure. I immediately spot Prim dancing with a rather nervous-looking Rory. He must have his brother's gift of two left feet. He looks so very focused on the task at hand while on the other hand Prim looks like she's just been given the Crown Jewels.

"So is this what you'd call a hoedown?" Johanna asks, walking up next to Gale and leaning forward to give us a both a knowing smirk.

"Yep, and we can only dance with our cousins." I deadpan. "Or a goat."

Gale laughs and Johanna sticks out her tongue in my direction. Before I know it, Johanna has said something to Gale and she's dragging him toward the dance floor. I half expect the look of sheer panic I receive from Gale when he realizes what she's doing, but I just wave in his direction.

Now that I'm left on my own I am painfully aware that I have yet to see the one person I've been looking for. I thought he'd be sitting with his brothers and family, but their picnic was filled with every blond head except for his. I am about to make my way back out of the barn when I feel a light hand at the small of my back. My body senses his presence completely before my eyes land on his.

"Come here often?" He smiles.

I shrug with a smirk. "Every Fourth of July."

"Predictable. I like that."

"I am hardly predictable, _Mellark_."

"Whatever you say, _Everdeen_. Whatever you say."

I revel in his closeness and I silently note the hint of his cologne that plays in the air around us.

"Dance with me."

"What?" I look at him as he's grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the dance floor. "I don't dance."

"Me either." Peeta smiles, turning back to me. "But I think I could with you."

All my other arguments are lost as he pulls me close. The music is slow and I'm actually grateful. I don't think I could possibly keep rhythm with an upbeat tempo. I feel his free hand rest against my hip while his other holds mine against his chest. I rest my hand on his shoulder as we begin to sway with the relaxed beat. I look around to see other dance partners mirroring us. Peeta and I just sort of melt into the crowd.

There's an older couple off on the edge. They are hardly moving but still hold each other lovingly. They're familiar with each other, and yet they look at each other as though it's their first dance. She looks at him like how I look at Peeta. The thought doesn't frighten me like that day not too long ago when I realized what it all meant. Instead it sends a chill down my spine and a shock of thrill beneath my skin.

I allow myself to come closer to Peeta, letting my arm drape around his neck. My fingers play with the short hairs at the nape of his neck and my eyes look up toward his. He's looking at me with a mesmerizing smile across his face. In the dulling light of twilight, his sharp features are more beautiful than usual. He lets his lips graze gently against my cheek as he wills me closer to him with the hand that's resting on my hip. I let my cheek rest against his after he's kissed me and I don't remember a time I've felt so peaceful.

His gesture was small, but my entire body feels it. The electricity that's flowing through me could light an entire town. I feel my soft body pressed against his hard one and I nearly gasp at the contrast. This isn't the first time we've been this close, but every time seems to awaken something new in me. A new need I swear I didn't have the time before.

My eyes close as I silently plead for the song to last forever. Even through the material of my shirt, Peeta's fingertips cause me to lose all coherent thought. His arm has come to wrap around my waist, his hand at the small of my back once again. And I want nothing more for him to reach beneath the thin cotton, but he doesn't. He wouldn't do something like that in the sight of others.

I wish the others weren't here.

That thought sends another tremor down my spine and I know Peeta feels it because his grip tightens slightly around me. I let my hand slip from his grasp to bring it around his neck and join my other one. He doesn't object and lets his hand come to rest in the middle of my back. I notice we're hardly moving with the beat anymore, but that's a mere side thought as my body continues to respond to his subtle movements.

I slowly pull far enough away to look up into the darkest blue eyes I've ever seen. His expression is as glazed over as I feel and I lean up to kiss him soundly on the lips. It's a break in the tension we've been building, but it's nowhere near all that's needed. I feel his hands grip the material of my t-shirt and my hands rest on his face almost possessively. The world goes into the background as I focus on my need for the man in front of me.

"Fireworks are starting!"

Our lips part at the sound of the little girl yelling at the top of her lungs, but it takes us much longer to come out of our haze. The music doesn't stop, but the sound is turned down as everyone starts to make his or her way outside. We are some of the last to head out, and Peeta's hand never leaves mine as we walk toward the crowd of people.

We stop at the edge of the group just as the first set lights up the sky. Peeta stands behind me, his arms wrapped around my waist and I lean into the warmth he offers. The smile on my face cannot be removed as I turn my attention from the sky to those standing around us. I see Prim with her friends, and Rory, ahead of us. They gasp with each new sparkling spectacle. Beetee and Wiress aren't too far from them; their constant bickering has ceased as they admire the show above. Mr. Mellark is standing with Mrs. Mellark and Reese, looking very pleased and happy. He deserves this. And then I spot Gale standing with Johanna. At first I believe they are just standing next to each other and then I look back and smile.

They're holding hands.

My attention is brought back to the sky until I feel Peeta's hand that lays flat against my stomach pull me closer to him. The gesture warms me to my toes and I can't help but bite my lip at my sudden thoughts. I wait for the rebuttal within myself, the one I expect to follow any sort of impulsive thought. It doesn't come. In fact, the only thing that comes is the sensation of Peeta's lips grazing the bare flesh of the spot where my shoulder meets my neck.

I slowly untangle myself from his arms but never letting my hand drop from his. He looks at me with an adorably confused expression and I can't help but laugh slightly. In the dark I doubt he sees my reaction. I start to pull him away from the crowd and he lets me.

"Where are we going?" he asks.

"To be unpredictable."


	10. Chapter Ten

**Author's Note: **I'm baaaack. Not that I really went anywhere, but I thought you'd all be happy to know I come with an update! But before I get into that I have a couple pretty important things to say:

First, I want you all to know I am so grateful for all the support you have shown me. Your reviews are beyond amazing and the alerts and follows? I cannot say enough for how supportive the Everlark fandom has been. This is my first dip into the fandom & I've had nothing but love. Thank you so, so much from the bottom of my heart. With that comes my apology. Due to my heavy schedule it's not easy for me to reply to every review I get - although I do try. So if you don't get response please don't assume I don't care because I do, so much. I am so grateful for even the smallest review of "update soon!" They all inspire me greatly, please know that.

Second, this could not be done without my two betas. Ivory, my original beta, who fed me encouragement after encouragement to continue. Thank you. She has since had real life kind of take over, but I still speak with her and her support for this story in unmatched. And then there is miss Court81981, who's beta powers are of the unhuman variety. She is so amazing. There aren't enough words to describe her perfection and support, especially in this chapter. She put me at such ease during my "M" rated writing and I can't thank her enough for that. Now everyone remember this: after you're done reading my chapter you need to race over and read Crash My Party. She puts my writing to shame, she's so good.

Basically, I have had the best support team during this story and venture into Everlark, I just can't wait to write more stories!

Sorry for the terribly long AN, but maybe not. It all needed to be said, but it's done and we're at chapter ten! Almost halfway through the story! Woohoo! Now, peeps, be warned this story is rated M for a reason and this chapter starts it. So, **not work appropriate**(even though I'm updating from work - on my personal laptop, but whatevs) and definitely **NOT** for young readers.

You've been warned, now enjoy!

* * *

**Summary: **There are also three types of people in Dawson, Texas: those who are trying to flee, those who embrace their small town fate, and the Mellarks. Mellark Ranch; largest cattle ranch South of Dallas, employer of ranch hand, Katniss Everdeen, and home of Ohio State Buckeye running back, Peeta Mellark. And Peeta Mellark is coming home today.

* * *

**Lone Star State of Mine  
****Chapter Ten: **Want To

"_You've got a dream of a degree and a shirt that smells like me."_

Sex.

The word itself causes a commotion.

It's the thing everyone and no one is talking about. If your friends ask, you're basically a champion in the homerun derby. If your parents mention the subject, you haven't even been called out of the dugout yet. If you're a male you make your "number" higher, but females tend to round down. (The double standard is hated, but still very much in tact.) If you claim you're waiting for marriage you're a traditional quack — or just ugly. But if you're fast and loose with the idea you're obviously getting paid for it.

And that's just in Dawson. The verdict is still out on the rest of the world.

In its barest form — pun intended — it's how the population extends. Of course, most of the time that's a reaction to the action hardly anyone under the age of 21 pays attention to. And it's usually one that garnishes the looks of pity and petty gossip from the same crowd. We all went to school with _that_ girl who got pregnant before she actually wanted to. Hell, some schools produce higher teen pregnancy statistics than future college graduates.

Ours was Cashmere Lewis.

She was in high school while I was still in middle school, but her reputation hung like a black flag of "this could be you" for years after she left Dawson High School. _Left_, not graduated. She got pregnant in her junior year. Apparently the father was more interested in Friday night touchdowns and Saturday night keggers to actually take responsibility for his unborn child. Not that he actually claimed it has his. Cashmere was devastated, or so the story goes. Her parents even more so. They took Cashmere and her older brother, Gloss, out of Dawson before the baby was even born.

No one mentions them much anymore.

Thus continues the belief that sex leads to nothing but problems. And you can't mention problems without mentioning love. Every boy is in love until they get what they want from their lover. Or so we're taught. Girls' chastity belts seem to loosen at the mere word. Girls who sleep around without love are simply easy. Girls who are in love are simply expressing said emotion.

Again, they're all stereotypes. But we cling to them.

_I _cling to them.

Because living secondhand has always been my way. Hearing stories and making assumptions is easier than actually going out and gathering the scars myself. I have enough scars without letting love, and all its attachments, make a few dents of its own.

In fact, a lot like love, I have never really thought much about sex. I'd listen to Gale's stories and try to tone out the really graphic moments. I'd hear gossip in the hallways about who had slept with whom over the weekends. I'd even eavesdrop on several conversations better Jackie and Samantha about different hookups happening on the ranch. But my actual knowledge on the subject is not much past the secondhand education from classmates and awkward classes with our P.E. teacher in the eighth grade.

That _need_ everyone talks about?

Well, I suppose I'd be an out and out liar if I said I never felt it in some way, but my experiences on my own have been less than…stellar. The whole idea embarrasses me so much that it hinders even the shadow touches I've dared at night. I've awoken from my far share of incredibly vivid dreams feeling like I've been caught in with my hand in the cookie jar. Even the memory of it in the early morning house causes me to blush instantly.

Needless to say, in touch with my sexuality, I am not.

And yet here I stand at my front door, pulling Peeta Mellark against me in a way that would cause all the church ladies to faint. I know what I want, but in the broadest of terms. I want Peeta. I want to feel completely connected to this boy who has managed to turn my world on its head in a matter of months. He's awoken something in me that I didn't even know existed. And looking back I realize this isn't as sudden as I feel it is.

Before this summer the slightest mention of him usually piqued my attention. I noticed him in a crowded room. I secretly sympathized with him, on some level, when Gale would mention his distaste for him. I silently wished him the absolute best when he left Dawson in the pursuit of a football scholarship. Peeta Mellark was always the boy off in the distance that I associated with my salvation.

His family offered me security and work without pity. Mr. Mellark had been the first to open his arms to me, but Peeta instantly followed suit. He didn't look at me like some charity project. He didn't treat me with kid gloves because my father had just died. No, he understood I didn't want that. Peeta understood me long before I realized — long before I took notice. He simply showed me around the ranch, showed me a few tricks of the trade, and then let me stretch my legs.

Peeta didn't hover, but he acknowledged. And in return I started to do the same. In the halls of Dawson High we were in two separate worlds, but at the ranch we were on the same field. And this was where we truly wished to be all the time. I see that now. I see how Peeta seems at ease in the acres of quiet pastures. How he can work a twelve-hour day of hard, sweaty labor and still have the ability to make everyone laugh at dinner. How he'd much rather spend his nights quietly on a porch swing than at any honky-tonk or bar in town.

Sometimes I forget this place is as much a part of him as it is me — probably more so.

And I think for the second time in this month that somehow this would have happened anyway. Whether it be now or down the road, Peeta Mellark was always the direction I was heading. In the light of day that realization will scare me, but tonight it does nothing but fuel the burn I have for this boy.

I feel the hand he has against my hip gently slide beneath my shirt. His calloused fingers against my bare side send chills through me. I untangle one of my hands from his curls to reach behind me for the doorknob. The sudden click in the quiet night startles us both, but Peeta freezes. My previous confidence easily begins to melt into uncertainty as his lips leave mine. I search his features, only really able to make out anything when a firework explodes in the distance.

"Katniss – we don't," His voice cracks with nerves and it strangely puts me at ease. "I'm not expecting anything. We don't have to do anything. I mean, I want to – I just – God, this –"

"I… I love you."

And it's out there. Saying it aloud feels like some kind of weight has been lifted from me to be replaced with butterflies. I hadn't meant to say it. I hadn't meant to put myself out there in such a way because for as long as I can remember my instincts have lead to self-preservation. Because putting myself out there would mean a possibility of getting hurt, and that is not an option. Not anymore.

I want to look away, but then a firework ignites overhead and my eyes find his. His expression is unreadable, which is rather strange. Peeta is a lot of things, but unreadable is not one of them. Have I completely ruined this? It's too sudden. I knew it was. I may be new to all things "relationship," but even I know the topic of love usually scares off many boys. My heart already aches at what I've done. And my mind is already preparing me to put on a stone face for the rest of the summer.

But then Peeta leans in to kiss me and all thoughts are lost.

The kiss is soft, almost ghostlike, as he pulls me flush against him. In my shocked state my arms still know their place around his neck and they find it comfortably.

"I knew it." His voice tickles against my lips. "My dreams of you saying that could never have done it justice."

I don't have time to process what he just said before his lips find my again and this kiss is no longer soft and lingering. This kiss is to express something. My arms have dropped to grip his biceps while his hands have found purchase on my neck. Our tongues duel for dominance and the heat inside me threatens to boil over as I reach behind me yet again and push my front door open. This time Peeta doesn't argue.

We stumble a bit as I pull him over the threshold. I can feel his smile mirrors mine, and it's something else that helps ease my nerves, even if for a moment. He blindly pushes the door closed and when I hear it click behind us, I pull away just enough to look at him. The silence between us, like the rest of the evening, is loaded. Our breathing is labored and mingles together in my dark kitchen. Slowly I lean forward, one of my hands resting on his chest. My lips brush run across his strong jaw and my other hand reaches behind him.

The sound of the deadbolt in the quiet atmosphere is deafening and promising. When my eyes meet his again, I'm sure. I may be inexperienced in everything we're about to do tonight, but I know exactly what I want — and he's standing right in front of me.

There is a still moment where neither of us knows what to do next. I take this moment to kick off each of my shoes and he does the same. It's mundane, but it fills the space of uncertainty.

I keep my eyes on his for a moment longer as I turn to walk down my small hallway toward my bedroom. Within a few steps I hear his behind me. My heart is racing, and I'm still in shock that I'm actually doing this. Not only am I doing this, I'm leading the way. I walk close to the wall, my fingertips grazing it as if at any moment I'm going to lose my nerve and my footing alike.

Before I reach my familiar room, I feel Peeta's hands come around my middle, one hand sprawling against my stomach while the other rests on my lip. Our walking slows to a near stop as I feel his lips against the heated flesh of my neck. I bite my lip to keep from gasping and my eyes close instantly. The moment is small but intimate. In the stillness I swear I can feel his heartbeat against my back. His warm, damp breath blows the small flyaway pieces of hair near my ear. My fingers intertwine with his against my stomach.

Finally I move us forward, entering my bedroom. I've always known it was small, but now with Peeta, it feels like a dollhouse. There is hardly three feet between the foot of my bed and my dresser. Normally being in such close proximity to anyone would lead me to squirm away, but now I wish there was less space. I wish to stay as close to this boy as possible.

And he must feel the same, because even the few inches I've put between us to lead him in here has been closed by him coming up behind me again. This time he simply places a hand against my side. And my nerves take over before I can control them. I've done everything to push us forward up until this moment. Peeta has only done as much as I've allowed, but in reality I know nothing from this point forward. I'm not even sure if _he_ does. I'm scared and unsure. I try to swallow the large lump that's formed there and I know my frame has gone rigid.

Then Peeta's hand slips from my side and I feel his hands gently undoing my braid, the tingling sensation in my scalp as he undoes the twists I had done earlier. Once he reaches the top I feel his fingers gently shake my tresses, letting them fall completely loose. And then his fingers are tracing patterns at the base of my skull, pushing all of my hair over my right shoulder. His lips kiss at the nape of my neck, following a pattern to my left ear.

"Let go, I've got you," He whispers.

The shiver that rushes through my body is obvious, and I feel his arm come around my middle. Not in possession, but in protection. He's promising me security and safety. Something I've always wanted, but never dared ask for. In that small sentence he's telling my I don't need to be in control not to get hurt. Not with him.

My eyes close as his lips connect with a spot just behind my ear. It tickles and it's familiar. I remember the first time he found that spot only weeks ago. We were leaning against his old pick-up. The moment had started off playful until he found that spot. My knees instantly went weak and I was grateful for his strong hold. Now I'm grateful for the same thing, but slowly his lips move away, and he's turning me to face him.

In the dim lighting I know he can't tell, but my features are flushed and my chest heaves with excited, short breaths. The only light that dances off our features is the light atop several barns nearby that cascade into my single bedroom window. It's dull, but enough and the shadows sooth me. Peeta reaches up and gently traces my cheek with his hand. His attention to detail, even in the dark, is astounding. With each touch my skin aches for more. He leans forward, his lips light against mine.

My response is slow, like his. He's patient, and this kiss proves it. He starts to walk me backwards until I feel the back of my knees hit the edge of my bed. Taking his lead, I slowly lay myself back. With his continued guidance I move toward the head of the bed and lay back against the several pillow I own. And then he's above me, careful not to rest all of his weight on me. But the weight I do feel sends a thrill through me. Our lips connect again and I'm hungry for more. This change in position has done nothing but make me anxious for more. I find my hands traveling down the material of his old t-shirt to the hem where I'm greeted with the feeling of his bare skin.

I'm bold again, and I start to pull the fabric upward. I don't get very far before Peeta leans up on his knees, towering over me. He easily strips the shirt off, tossing it to the side. In the dim light I can make out the contour of his athletic muscles, and he hovers above me like some kind of Greek God. It isn't long before he's coming back atop of me, but it feels like ages and my hands search for him. I grip his strong shoulders as his lips start a trail down my jaw. I feel the heat of his bare chest through the material of my shirt that I'm now wishing wasn't there.

His hands must have the same idea because soon I feel his fingertips just above the waist of my jeans. He's tickling lightly and I can't help the breathy laugh that escapes me. I feel his smile against my pulse point, and it makes me smile longer.

And then he's pulling at the hem of my shirt. It's gentle, almost asking for permission. Slowly I push myself up, following his lead, and toss the material over my head and off to the side. He's leaning back on his heels and looking at me. My insecurities run rampant as I feel his eyes move down from my shoulders to my bra-covered chest and then my bare stomach. It's nothing he wouldn't see when I've been in my swimsuit, but my bra is anything but Victoria Secret and my ranch work tan lines are never appealing. I want to ask him what he thinks; I know I'm not some kind of gorgeous supermodel, but the way his eyes follow every line makes me believe he thinks so.

He's the one who moves first, forcing me to lie back as his lips attach to my collarbone. I feel his hand against my bare stomach and my heart nearly pounds out of my chest as his lips continue their journey downward. He places light kisses atop each breast, just above where my bra covers. My flesh forms goose bumps on the surface.

The gasp that comes out when he lightly nips at the sensitive flesh of my ribs surprises me, but it only encourages him to continue. And he does, sometimes lightly tracing the tip of his tongue over where he just nipped.

His lips continue to lave down, stopping at my bellybutton. The sensation causes me to suck in a sudden breath and when he nips just to the right of it I giggle — actually giggle.

"Someone's ticklish," he mumbles, still kissing around my abdomen. "Good to know."

"Don't you dare, Mellark."

"Don't sass me, Everdeen."

His laughter mingles with mine and this feels so natural. This feels like something I will spend the rest of my days looking forward to. Not just the sex, but also these intimate moments with Peeta. These moments when everything else fades away and it's simply us.

But the laughing stops when he moves back up my body, kissing a trail as he does. Slowly I feel his hand come up to the front clasp of my bra, and it unclips easily. The material loosens around me, but he doesn't push it away at first. He looks at me, watching my reaction. He's looking for uncertainty he won't find. Tonight and Peeta are some of the few things I've honestly been sure about in a long time.

His fingertips move beneath the material, and I feel his calloused touch against my flesh. The rush of heat to my stomach nearly ignites me from the inside out. A simple touch from Peeta has always sent me ablaze, but tonight is a newfound need. He moves the material aside; both of my breasts now free to his touch and his eyes. I subtly move to allow for him to remove the offending bearer from me completely. It gets tossed somewhere to join our t-shirts.

What little I knew about pleasure is completely dissolved when Peeta's lips slip around one of my erect peaks. My mews of pleasure can't be contained as I feel his tongue run circles around my nipple. My hands, as if on feminine instinct, tangle in his curls, begging him not to move. My back arches to meet his lips and his hand glides up my side. Then I feel his thumb rub over the sensitive bud of my other breast. My eyes slam shut, and my head rolls back into the pillows.

Peeta switches his attentions, slowly moving between each. But before he does, he makes sure to worship the valley between them, running wet kisses up and down my chest, even coming up to capture my lips in a passionate lock. My chest heaves noticeably, and I know he's aware of just what he's doing to my body.

My hands are gripping his shoulders hard enough to leave marks, and I find something about that positively exciting. The sensations I feel cause me to buck my hips, accidently at first. The throaty groan Peeta lets out when I do it causes a chill to run through me. I am new to all of this, but apparently whatever I had just done had caused Peeta some kind of pleasure, and since I wish to give him even a fraction of the pleasure he's giving me, I do it once more.

The noises he makes are beautiful, but that's not surprising. Everything Peeta does, everything Peeta _is_, is beautiful.

Soon Peeta is kissing his way back up to my lips. He stops for a short moment at my collarbone again and I believe I have found one of Peeta's favorite parts about me. When his lips come to mine, our tongues meet in a lazy, passionate duel. His hips have settled against mine completely, and I feel what I can only imagine to be his hardened length against my sensitive core.

My hips decide then to buck against him, and he half-moans and half-laughs against my lips.

"If you continue that much longer, this will end long before it begins."

His hand grasps at my hip, his fingers slipping just below the waistband of my jeans. It's in this moment I can just take in the sensation of having Peeta flush against me. Our body heat has raised the temperature in my room enough that we both have a thin layer of sweat against us. This causes a delicious slick feeling between us.

My hands find purchase on each side of his face as I deepen the kiss even more. My legs easily wrap around his waist, and I know I want more. My legs don't stay wrapped him for long because he's soon coaxing them apart so that he can push himself back up onto his heels. I will never get tired of watching him tower over me. His fingers trace patterns down my sides, and I grin at the tickling sensation. When his fingers stop at the button of my jeans, my breath hitches and my nerves start again.

Uncertainty is still nowhere to be seen, but the anxiety to move forward to painted all over me.

The button comes undone easily and the noise of my zipper fills the quiet room. And then there's nothing stopping him. He gently begins to tug at the material, my hips raise when needed, and then I realize my underwear is going with them. My heart races at the vulnerability that I know is inevitable. And as my legs are completely freed from my old jeans I feel the humid air of the room hit my flesh. My stomach twists with nerves and I can feel Peeta's eyes memorizing me in the dim lighting. He's standing at the foot of the bed looking down at me and I can't help but look away.

Nudity is nothing I'm familiar with outside of showering, and nudity in front of someone else is nearly unbearable. I fight everything in me that wants to grab the blanket and throw it across me. And then I feel his hand grab at my ankle and pull it upward. This does nothing to relieve my nerves, but his lips against the arch of my foot sends a shiver through me.

"You're absolutely perfect, Katniss," he whispers against the flesh of my ankle.

His lips continue to move up my leg; placing it back down on the bed, he forces me to move them farther apart. This causes me to squirm with nervous excitement. His lips are at my thigh before I realize his final destination. Of course, it's something I've only heard people talk about and to be honest I've always thought it sounded rather gross. Why would anyone want someone down there? Better yet, why would anyone _want_ to be down there?

And then my questions are answered.

His tongue comes in contact with the apex between my legs experimentally and I nearly come unglued. My hands grasp the blanket around me and my moans fill the air. Instantly my hips rock gently as if to keep contact with this new intruder. Peeta's arm comes across my hips, keeping them in place as he continues his assault on my center. I thought his tongue would be my undoing until I felt his lips enclose my sensitive bud and suck gently. His name falls from my lips like rain.

The coils in the bottom of my stomach tighten with each suck or lick. His hand that holds my hip tightens and I realize this must be doing something for him as well. I never thought giving pleasure to someone would be such a turn on, but as I think about it, I realize how much I wish to touch him. But that will have to wait because I suddenly feel Peeta's finger slip inside me and start moving in time with his tongue.

At first the intrusion feels strange, and when he adds another I feel as though I am being stretched uncomfortably. But soon the discomfort fades, and he starts curling the tips of his fingers just so that he is hitting a spot I didn't even know existed. My cries fill the room unashamedly now. There is something building within me — a something I've only felt on a much more mundane scale when it's been my fingers or a vivid dream bringing it forth.

I can feel my walls tightening around his fingers and my back arches nearly completely off the bed. My eyes are shut tight and the thin layer of sweat has turned into beads rolling down my sides and neck. I bite my lip for a moment when Peeta hits a particularly sensitive spot and times it perfectly with a light lick to my tender bud.

"Come for me, baby." Peeta encourages, kissing the inside of my thigh. "Let go."

And when his lips come back to my center I come undone. The explosion inside me is like nothing I've ever felt before. I swear I see stars behind my closed eyes as Peeta's name continues to come out in breathless moans. My hands are tangled in his curls, and I'm completely lost.

When I come down from my high, Peeta is gently kissing my abdomen and nipping at my hipbones. I can feel the smugness practically illuminating off of him and I can't help but smile at how boyish he looks against my slick skin. As he works his way back up my body for what seems like the hundredth time that night he places light kisses on my overly sensitive nipples, the smirk never leaving his face.

"What?" I ask.

"You're beautiful when you come." His sincerity leaves me breathless and ignites another fire inside of me.

He kisses me then, and my heart starts its erratic beating all over again. I feel him flush against me once more and I feel as though something had been missing from me before. His hands are everywhere and mine follow suit. My hips move against him; this time the feeling is near surreal. The coarse fabric against my damp curls and sensitive center is maddening.

My hands find the button of his jeans and easily undo it. He pauses, pulling away from my lips just enough to look at me. I'm brave again.

"I bet you are too," I say, leaning up to capture his lips with mine.

If he has an argument it's lost for the moment has his fingers tangle in my hair, his lips collide with mine. My hands continue to undo his jeans, starting to push them down the best I can. But he pulls away again. I think he wants to ask if I'm sure, but when I reach down to grasp his hardened length underneath the confides of his jeans he's quiet once again. There's no turning back. I want this.

He pushes himself up off the bed, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet. At first I'm confused, until I see the small square package he pulls out. I'm naïve, but I live in the twenty-first century. He tosses his wallet to the side and looks up at him.

"Never thought I'd thank Reese for anything." He smirks and I laugh.

This is easy, and I wonder if everyone else's first time is this easy and carefree. I'm sure its not. I've heard plenty horror stories. And like always, I'm thankful for Peeta.

His jeans slide down his hips easily, his boxers following suit. My stomach is filled with excitement, and my eyes can't be torn from his now bare body. My thoughts are completely confirmed; he is a Greek God. He looks so beautiful as my eyes scan down his body. In the dark, his all shadows and contour, but the details are there and I suddenly wish to explore them.

Crawling back to me, he takes his time to find places to attach his lips. Peeta is nothing if not thorough. He pauses only to tear the small package and roll the condom down his length. I get bold then and reach my own hand out to help him. His groan is reassuring and my hand runs up and down his erection several times after the barrier is in place.

Peeta grabs my hand, gently pulling it away and places a flat kiss against my palm. He lays atop me then, aligning himself with my center. I tense instinctively, but he doesn't enter me. Instead he looks at me, kissing my lips lightly.

"This is going to hurt at first," he says between kisses. "Try to relax."

I nod, but the tension still has hold of my muscles. I've heard of the original pain girls feel at their first time and even with that instruction my body does as it will. My hands are gripped around his biceps and my knees rest against his sides. I feel the weight of his elbows on either side of me and try to focus on anything but the impending pain.

Yet he still doesn't enter me; instead he kisses me deeply. My lips mold to his easily, and my tongue searches for his. When they connect I moan lightly, my muscles are relaxing without me realizing. He parts our lips enough to speak.

"You have no idea the affect you have on me," he whispers, kissing me again. "I love you."

My heart soars and he enters me deeply. I gasp at the sudden intrusion, my nails digging into his arms as my head tips back against the pillow. The pain isn't instant, but it does come. Peeta holds still through the sharpness, peppering my face with silent kisses. My eyes sting with sudden tears, but a few blinks and they are gone.

My lips search for his and then they connect; my hips buck against his gently. He must understand me because he gently starts to thrust into me. The discomfort remains for several moments before the pleasure starts to wash over me in quiet waves. My quiet whimpers slowly turn into heated moans.

Soon enough Peeta's slow, gentle thrusts aren't enough and I find my hands resting against his lips quietly begging for more. The smirk on Peeta's lips tells me he understands my meaning, but he does nothing to change the pace. Instead he leans down and kisses my sweaty pulse point before moving up to the shell of my ear. "What do you want?"

His voice is deeper than normal. His chest practically rumbles with the gravel and strain in his voice. The mere sound is enough to have me crying out in a wave of pleasure. My hands are still tight on his hips as I try to meet his thrusts in way that tells him I need more. But still our pace remains painstakingly slow.

"You. Harder," I choke out, my eyes opening to see his once blue eyes nearly black in the darkness.

And his thrusts are quicker, deeper. The discomfort I once felt has faded to the background and it's replaced with that familiar build that I remember from earlier. My legs tighten around him and my hands rest around his neck, bringing his forehead against mine. The closeness brings a tightness to my chest and I'm mumbling his name against his lips. My walls tighten around him and I feel his thrusts lose their rhythm for a moment. I think it's his silent way of telling me he's close.

His hand slides beneath me, coming to rest in the small of my back. He twists me upward, and the new angle is spine tingling. I cry out instantly when he hits a spot deep inside me. Within a few deep thrusts I'm coming undone. His name, once again, pours from my lips and my hips arch into him easily. Peeta is losing his resolve and it's absolutely beautiful.

"Come for me, baby." My words echo his from earlier.

And I am just coming down from my high when Peeta starts to fall over the edge inside of me. His eyes close tight and his grip on my hip tightens. I swear my name has never sounded more perfect than it does coming from his mouth at this moment. His thrusts slow as he starts to come back to reality. My hands are still resting around his neck and his forehead is still against mine. Our breath mingles together as we both struggle for steadiness.

"I was right." I smile, my lips finding his.

I don't finish my thought because he deepens the kiss and I'm lost. When he slips out of me I whimper, but remain attached to him as he rolls over. I'm now lying against him, his arm coming around me, and his hand resting against my hip. Part of me thinks I should cover up, but the air is so warm that my slick skin finds the bareness cooling.

"I could stay here forever," I mumble, sleep suddenly sounding rather appealing.

"Hold that thought," He whispers into my temple before crawling out of bed and heading towards my bathroom.

I smirk at the sight of a very naked Peeta finding his way, rather clumsily though my house, attempting to locate my bathroom. My smirk turns into a smile as I lay there thinking about everything that has happened. How I could spend the rest of my nights like this and find no complaint. My eyes start to drift close as I remember the sound of Peeta's voice telling me he loved me.

I fall asleep that night before Peeta returns, but I ghostly remember him saying those three beautiful words to me before I am completely overcome by sleep.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Author's Note: **So are you sitting at your computer in serious shock right now? Two updates in less than a week? I mean, just a day short of a week, but still less than a week. Holy smokes! I'm in shock and you want to know why? Because my beta is the quickest one on the planet. And thorough and wonderful. Obviously I'm beyond lucky to have her. So thank you, **Court81981**! One, for being the awesome beta that you are. And two, for ruining me in the best way with your stories. And thank you to everyone who continually shows me amazing support. Your reviews, favorites, follows, and alerts make me smile and push me forward. Thank you!

And now onto the chapter! Some answers will be answered, for those who've been asking, while others are going to be raised. And the drama is coming..dun, dun, dun! Enjoy!

* * *

**Summary: **There are also three types of people in Dawson, Texas: those who are trying to flee, those who embrace their small town fate, and the Mellarks. Mellark Ranch; largest cattle ranch South of Dallas, employer of ranch hand, Katniss Everdeen, and home of Ohio State Buckeye running back, Peeta Mellark. And Peeta Mellark is coming home today.

* * *

**Lone Star State of Mine  
****Chapter Eleven: **Night Train

"_It's supposed to get a little cool tonight. Looks like I'm going to have to hold you tight."_

The smell of summer.

I suppose to say there is only one smell of summer would be a bit of a stretch. For everyone it's different. In a small town there are a million different scents that can remind a person of those three months. I'm sure the city is no different. Some have odors that they dread, while others stop in their tracks with a smile on their face when a certain scent wafts through the air.

The summer, like every season, has its iconic scents and I've heard some experts say your sense of smell is attached to memories, to emotions. I'm not a scientist, but from what I've experienced this theory seems to be true.

The smell of Dove shampoo will forever be the smell of my mother. She has used it since I was little. The steam from her shower would always cast it out into the small hallway of our modest home and into our rooms. The smell would sit there for hours and in the summer, it tended to stay permanently, the humidity only adding to its potency. It also reminds me of the time when Prim was little, maybe three or four, and got a hold of the full shampoo bottle while we were driving home from the grocery store and proceeded to dump most the contents into the backseat. My Dad's car still has the lingering of Dove — not that we get in it much. Even now, from time to time, when I'm walking through the aisles of the pharmacy I will catch the scent lingering and I remember.

There is this thing that humidity tends to do to growing corn, especially toward the end of summer. It's a smell that you have to be searching for on most days around Dawson, but if the wind is just right, you can't avoid it. It's a type of musk that doesn't really smell terrible, but it doesn't smell good either. It just makes itself known, but most don't pay attention. I know I didn't until my father died. Then the stench seemed to find me. I would be working on the ranch or out with Gale at the baseball diamond and it would hit me like a ton of bricks. It was almost as if I had seen Mr. Snow himself walk past. My chest would get heavy, my heart would race, and my stomach would twist — the bile practically begging to come out. It still has an effect on me, but nowhere near what it used to. The saddness will linger for a moment, but my life goes on.

Of course, there are always the generic smells of summer — the ones that don't really expose any nerves or stir any memories, but you recognize them as soon as they hit your nose. The smell of sunblock, for example. You associate it will swimming, pale skin, and undoubtedly still the need for Aloe Vera that night. But for most it doesn't rekindle any sort of iconic memory. Some smells are just so common you don't think much of them. Unfortunately, not all those smells are pleasant. I love my job, and I love this place, but summertime is easily the worst time for your nose. Animals are not the most hygienic and the temperatures are unforgiving.

Summer nights usually consist of bug spray lingering in the air and burning your senses, while the nearby campfire soaks into very fiber of your clothes so it'll stay with you long after you've gone home. Around the ranch there is usually someone cooking on the grill while others are popping open cold beers. The smells mingle, together and somehow they comfort me. It's natural and it's normal. Change and I don't get along much, so I welcome anything that reminds me of the constants in my life.

And then there are summer mornings. Summer mornings are always my favorite. The way the breeze has yet to be tainted by the hot, afternoon sun. The way the stillness has the crisp coolness of the night prior. The way the moisture still hovers in the atmosphere without causing discomfort. All of that comes together to create this fresh, new smell. Like the world is reminding you that it's a new day and you can start over however you wish.

But this morning is different. This morning, before my eyes have even begun to flutter I get a hint of something new to my usual morning smell. Its heaviness is soothing, and it's earthiness tickles. It's not until I smell the distinct smell of spice that my memories rush through me like an alarm clock and a sleepy smile plays at my lips. The smell of cologne on Peeta isn't common. He normally just smells of worn leather from his gloves, sweat from a hard day's work, deodorant that has begun to fade before the day is even half over, and a hint of flour that I'm unsure of from where it originates. But when he does, all of those smells combine with it in the most comforting way.

This morning the scent has become imprinted in my mind and I'll forever associate it with the way Peeta looks so peaceful in his sleep, the way the sun creates shadows with my swaying curtains across the bed, the way I slowly stretch and feel a delicious soreness overtake me, and the indescribable safety I feel.

My eyes don't take long to adjust to the morning light. My eyes move from Peeta to glance around the room, but the detour is short-lived. I like to look at Peeta. I've always enjoyed watching him move about the ranch, but now I am simply looking at him. Studying him in an intimate way. The way his nostrils slightly flare when he lets out a quiet snore. How his relaxed features seem to have sadness in them: his lips fall into a small frown, his eyebrows are worried, and there is a crease in his forehead I want to reach out and sooth away. They tell a story Peeta himself has never said: he lives a harder life than he lets on.

We've all talked about the type of person Mrs. Mellark is to her children. Behind closed doors, we could only imagine the wrath she lets out on them. And in her more heated moments she's even let that anger ooze out into the landscape of the ranch. I've personally seen her throwing a pot in Mr. Mellark's direction as he leaves the house and others have told stories of her all but strangling the other members of her family on their front lawn.

Suddenly I wish her away. I wish _all_ things away that could cause such a stressed expression on this beautiful man's face.

After I have memorized his face, my eyes trail downward. His neck is twisted as he lies on prone and I'm close enough to see his pulse point bob rhythmically. His shoulders are relaxed, but their muscles still remain prominent. His right arm is lifted up, tucked underneath the pillow he's using. A trace of the tattoo I've only spotted briefly mars the skin that's against the mattress. He also has a tan line across his arm where his t-shirt normally rests. His back is tanned, but nowhere near the darkness of his forearms and face. I find the unevenness of it appealing.

The sheet lands just below the curve of his back and I want nothing more than to reach over and yank it off completely and memorize every inch of flesh, but that would undoubtedly ruin my interrupted moment to watch him. So instead I direct my gaze upward again as I move myself closer to Peeta, allowing the sheet to fall just below my chest as I do so. The movement causes him to stir and I've decided I would rather have an awake, naked Peeta than a sleeping one.

I place my lips against the warm skin of his bicep and let them linger there to drop several wet kisses. His body starts to move slowly. His eyes flicker open and his sleepy smile is another thing I've decided I want to see more of. My hand reaches over to lightly trace the muscles of his shoulder and my eyes meet his.

"What time is it?" he asks, his voice gruff with sleep.

"I don't know, maybe seven." I muse, still tracing my fingers along his skin.

He groans, tucking his face into the pillow. "We have the day off."

"We do." I smirk, reaching for his arm and pulling it over my waist as I slide closer.

He must get my obvious innuendo, because he turns his head back again, but this time there is a knowing smile. His blue eyes are dark, and it sends a chill through me.

Shifting slightly, I watch him turn to lie on his side facing me. My eyes move down as he turns, the sheet only allowing the smallest of glimpses and my curiosity isn't quenched. But my eyes don't linger because he's moving toward me, his lips easily finding mine and guiding me back onto the bed. He hovers over me, his upper half pressing mine into the mattress.

His lips are on my jaw when I hear him ask, "How are you feeling?"

Wonderful. Over the moon. _In love_.

But then I realize why he's probably asking, and it has nothing to do with emotional state, although I'm sure he cares about that as well. My body does ache, but no worse than it has on my harder work days. And I would much rather the ache come from this type of activity.

"I'm sore." I admit, hoping it doesn't derail where this morning is heading.

"I'm sorry." His lips remain close as he drops little kisses on my neck and just beneath my earlobe.

"I'm not."

Peeta pulls away to look me in the eyes, his arm coming up to push a stray hair from my eyes. It's another quiet moment, but an intense one. His breath tingles on my lips and my chest presses against his with every breath. I feel my hand run down his side, remembering the spot I found last night: the spot just above the V of his hips that causes him to let out this sexy ragged laugh. Our eyes remain looked and I watch amusement come across his aroused expression.

"Me neither."

My laughter fills the quiet room, and I give him a playful shove.

Dramatically, Peeta falls back against the bed and I'm not far behind him. We've not changed positions, and I'm the one hovering over him. This time my eyes are roaming all over his now-exposed chest then onto the defined lines of his abs, the light dusting of hair that trails past the sheet that still covers him, and the evidence of just how much he's enjoying our morning activities.

The sight makes me blush and also fills me with pride. I linger there for just a moment before looking back up at him. This time my eyes find the arm that's wrapped under me and I see the tattoo I've wanted to get a better look at. The tattoo that I assumed was some kind of tribal, generic piece of ink that he'd gotten as a way to rebel like most tend to do around here.

But I am beyond surprised at what I find there. It's nothing tribal, religious, or the dreaded barbed wire. The shape is completely shaded black and a bit aged.

It's an insignia. A college insignia, but it's not the familiar "O" shape that's passed around here on Mr. Mellark's t-shirt or the bumper sticker on Reese's truck. It's a steer's head. More specifically, it's a longhorn. As in the University of Texas. My eyes are rivited there and Peeta must see my confusion because he lets out a slow breath and a laugh.

"Sometimes I really shouldn't listen to Finnick."

"Finnick didn't go to the University of Texas." I say, looking up at him as my fingers trace the image.

"No, but Gale was going to," Peeta says, looking over at me and tucking his other arm behind his head. "The summer before our senior year, after Gale and I had officially signed on to play at Texas and Ohio, Finnick convinced us that we all needed to celebrate the achievement. Naturally that involved a bit of alcohol."

"Naturally." I laugh, placing a kiss atop the tattooed flesh.

"A tattoo parlor was somewhere between the third beer and the second shot of tequila." Peeta laughs, looking up at the ceiling like he could still see the memory up there. "Obviously Finnick knew a guy — Finn always knows a guy — and somehow he was able to get two minors tattoos without anyone blinking an eye."

"Gale has a tattoo?" My surprise is evident in my voice.

"You didn't _know_ Gale has a tattoo?"

"Obviously not."

"Right shoulder blade. It's the same as mine, style-wise, except it's the logo for the Volunteers," Peeta continues. "Finn has the Buckeyes tattoo, outside of his left bicep."

There is a silence in the room as I process the story I've just heard. It's really not that unbelievable since Finnick, Gale, and Peeta used to be practically inseparable. But the story also makes me realize just how much this rift has probably affected all of them. Finnick maybe more than anyone, he's probably had to spend his time playing referee when really he wants it all just to go back to how it was. To how Peeta wants it to be. To how Gale wishes it never stopped being. But anger and jealousy are ugly emotions.

My eyes move from where they've been studying the tattoo to meet Peeta's eyes, a laugh escaping. "So you guys basically have permanent friendship bracelets?"

Peeta laughs, pulling me closer and placing a kiss on my forehead. My head lies against his shoulder as I reach for the hand resting across his stomach., I lace our fingers together and enjoy the moment.

"I guess I should be relieved you didn't know Gale has a tattoo," Peeta muses. "That means you haven't seen him without a shirt. Guess that means –"

"That I was a virgin last night." I interject, turning my head up to get a better look at his face. My smirk playing at my lips, "You knew that. Feel better now that you've heard me say it?"

"Glad to hear there wasn't only one in the room last night."

My eyebrows raise, the look of confusion barely seen by Peeta who doesn't have a good view of my face in this position. The way he was last night, although I have nothing to compare it to, seemed like a man with experience. And although the thought of Peeta with someone else turns my stomach, I still assumed it to be the truth. Why wouldn't he? I heard how the girls talked about him in school and I'm sure college girls are no different. He certainly wasn't a virgin because he hadn't had the opportunity.

"Having two older brothers gave me a sex education that would make Mrs. Undersee faint on the spot," Peeta ran his hand down my bare side as he spoke. "But I wasn't like Reese. I guess I took after Clement in that area."

"What does that mean?" I ask, watching his thumb trace small circles on the skin of my hand.

"I have to spell it out?"

"You made me."

And suddenly, with an unexpected yelp, I'm on my back and Peeta is above me. With a few unsteady movements, Peeta is completely between my legs, and I can feel his hardness against my sensitive center. The contact alone causes me to gasp and grip his shoulders. He leans into kiss me, but it doesn't last long because he's working his way down my neck and then to my bare breasts.

"I."

His voice is against my skin and then I feel his lips dragging across my chest — first to the left and then downward. He then lifts his lips just slightly before meeting my burning skin again to drag out another line, finishing it by enclosing my perked nipple in a wet kiss. And then I realize what he's doing. He's spelling it out.

"Love."

He moves away from my breasts and starts to spell the word across my stomach, causing me to giggle every so often when he hits a particularly ticklish spot. My fingers are lightly entangled in his hair as I watch him with what I can only describe as admiration. I watch and sigh as his tongue dips into my bellybutton. And then his I feel his teeth snag on my hipbone in the most appealing way. The heat is rising to a boiling point inside of me, and I can't help but believe it will always feel this way.

"You."

Peeta doesn't spell that word; instead he comes back above me and finds my lips in a passionate kiss. One I eagerly welcome and in response, I spread my hips wider. The feeling of him slowly sinking into me causes another gasp that I can't contain, but then Peeta stills. He just watches me, and I reach up and move a curl from his vision.

"You are full of surprises, Peeta Mellark."

"You have no idea, Katniss Everdeen."

* * *

And then the fourth of July turns into the fourteenth of July. Before we know it, August is just around the corner and I can hardly ignore the pit in my stomach that grows with each passing day. Peeta will be going back to school soon, and I'm not sure what I dread most; the fact that he's leaving or the fact that I'll have to admit how much I am going to miss him—how much I have come to need him.

Most days I can be distracted from the fact that he's leaving by the shadow Johanna has become to me. Since Independence Day went so well, her words—not mine — she has decided that staying the remainder of the summer is in her best interest. Apparently she doesn't come from the best home life back in California, although she's pretty closed up about the whole topic. Not that I blame her,;it's not that I air my father's death often either.

Plus she and Gale have officially, at least in my eyes, become an item. I've seen them together and it's the brightest I've seen Gale's smile in a while and he must be doing something right because the normal expression of "I'll slit your throat" that Johanna tends to wear is gone. They're happy. And I completely understand that. Johanna and I don't talk much about our existing relationships, not much really needs to be said from one recently satisfied girl to anther.

Gale and I don't speak much of our new relationships either, mostly because he's still not completely ready to be around Peeta just yet. I have noticed he's actually speaking to him now, but I don't dare bring it up in cause he's like a scared dog that will run away at the first sign of notice. Gale has stopped mentioning his disapproval of Peeta and for that I'm grateful. This is all new to me and I don't need naysayers — even if it is my best friend — filling my mind with uncertainty. I can do that all on my own.

Then there is the rest of Dawson who doesn't need a public announcement to figure out what's going on in everyone's love lives. They just need one good gossiper to catch wind of it and it's all over town. In our case it was Finnick. I'm sure he meant no harm in spreading the word, but after the Fourth of July bash the whole thing was out in the open. At first I was nervous that Mr. Mellark would think poorly of me, but apparently dating his son makes me some kind of saint. He must be thinking of the wrong son. Mrs. Mellark still has a chilled atmosphere around her. And Reese and Clement keep nudging Peeta and mumbling something. I'm not in on the joke. So I suppose things have all remained basically the same.

Besides the toe-curling, back-arching, mind-blowing stolen moments I have with Peeta certainly are not few and far between. On the nights he doesn't spend over at my place, he's usually at my door plenty early before work is supposed to start. One morning I was in the shower when he showed up, but that didn't seem to stop him when I felt his arms close around my waist from behind. I still fill heat rush downward when I think of the way his naked body pressed against mine so passionately. That is one of my favorite wake up calls. I may new to this, but it's certainly something I can get used to.

And then I remember it'll all be ending soon.

My eyes watch the calm waters of the lake as I hear the crowd behind me talking and laughing. Lake Greer is probably one of the only selling points to Dawson and technically it's not even in the city limits, but Dawson claims it as her own. I don't make it out here much, but when I do it's usually to watch Prim splash around or make sure Gale doesn't drink too much and end up drowning. But this year the town hall has decided to throw a small summer bash in conjunction with the church's annual missions' fundraiser, out here. Which means I'm off babysitting duties.

I had originally planned on having a good time. Peeta and I had rode together and I hadn't left his side, his thumb sliding through the back belt loop of my shorts, pulling me closer from time to time. We'd eaten with Finnick, Annie, Gale and Johanna and had even played a couple rounds of Corn Hole. Surprisingly Peeta is terrible at it. We lost in the first rounds each time. Then Peeta got pulled away from some folks from the church, and I heard him talking about his next semester at school — mostly football. I hated how much a conversation like that could ruin my mood.

So here I am, standing along the shore of the lake, holding a half-empty Solo cup trying to figure out how I got so attached to someone so quickly. How I _allowed_ myself to get so attached to someone so quickly. And then I feel his lips graze against the side of my neck as his arm wraps around me loosely. My body naturally leans against his, and I know all the answers to my questions.

"I know what you're thinking." His voice tickles my ear.

He can't possibly. I should talk to him about him going back to school. It's something we haven't even brought up yet, but it's coming and neither of us can stop it. Does he want to stop it? Maybe this has all been too much too fast for him? I've been so worried about my own feelings that I didn't even being to consider his in that regard. Now I can feel my stomach twisting again.

"You're thinking about skinny dipping." He continues, his hand coming to rest on my hip, allowing his thumb to skim the bare skin there. "And as much as the others would probably be completely against it, I say you go right ahead."

I laugh, my head coming to rest on his shoulder. "And let everyone see me naked?" I ask, only slightly enjoying his tender possessiveness of me.

"Good point. Maybe later."

I turn to face him then, letting my arms come up around his neck. I lean forward and place a quick kiss on his lips, trying to remember that we are still in sight of others and that Dawson loves to talk.

"How about now?" I ask, lowering my voice suggestively. "I know another body of water not too far from here."

Right now the idea of cooling off in Mellarks' pond on this hot July night with Peeta snuggly between my thighs is winning over our need for this talk. But, then again, usually having a naked Peeta anywhere wins out. Conversations can wait.


End file.
